All Fall Down
by mon-petit-pois
Summary: It was the day of her mother's funeral that her father pulled her aside and gave her the marching orders that were to set the course for the rest of her life. When her undercover operation takes away everything she has, Ziva is left broken. With nothing left but her carefully guarded emotional walls and her beloved siblings, she makes her escape. (T/Z) AU
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: If you're someone who follows me stories at all, I know what you're thinking. Allison, you already have four unfinished stories what are you doing making another one? The truth is, I don't know. But this plot bunny wouldn't go away so here we have it!_

_Enjoy!_

…

Ziva isn't sure how she's still standing. The fatigue of routinely getting four hours of sleep should have, after so long, rendered her body and soul immobile. However, after so many years of constant abuse and neglect, certain things start to shut down and the body loses some of its perception to things that before would have bothered it.

Or so says her brother, who fancies himself a psychologist.

"You look like you're about to collapse, ma'am. Long day?"

Ziva sighs and looks at the man on the other side of the bar. "It is not so bad," she replies, her voice soft, her gaze returning to the soapy rag she is using to wipe off the countertop.

"You know, I've seen you here every night all week, and I still haven't caught your name," the man comments.

"I do not know yours, either," she points out.

"Touché. Name's Brian Clemmens. You?"

Ziva tilts her head to the side, studying him. "Ziva. Ziva Da—" she catches herself, "Regev."

"How old are you, if I may ask?"

She pursed her lips. "Nineteen. Not that it is any of your business."

"Well, Miss Regev, it's almost closing time, right? How about I walk you out," he proposes.

She shakes her head. "There is no need."

"Please, like I have anything better to do at ten o'clock on a Sunday."

Ziva lifts her head slowly, pushing her dark hair behind her ear. The man seems nice enough. He wears some type of military uniform, but that means nothing to Ziva as far as trustworthiness goes. Of course, Ziva trusts nearly nobody in this world, anyhow.

However, if all else fails, she knows that she at least can defend herself. Sighing, she gives a curt nod. "Okay." She removes her apron from around her waist and returns it to the kitchen, punching out like she does every night when her shift is over.

When she exits the kitchen, she finds the soldier standing by the doorway, waiting for her. "Where is your car?" he asks.

She just shakes her head. "I take the bus." He studies her, and she looks away self-consciously. She hates the feeling of their eyes, their prying eyes, as they stare at her, undressing her with them.

"I'll drive you to the station," he tells her.

"Do not be ridiculous. I can walk."

"Please, let my drive you," he insists.

"_No!_ I said I will walk, so I will walk!" she snaps. Seeing the somewhat hurt and dejected look in his eyes, she almost regrets it. _Almost._

"I'm sorry. Have a nice night," he replies tersely, before turning on his heels and walking away towards the parking lot. Ziva does not stop him.

As she heads in the direction of the bus station, she feels the hairs on the back of her neck begin to stand up. Looking around the night-blanketed street, she doesn't see anybody or anything, but the feeling won't go away.

And then, in the blink of an eye, she is on the ground. Stunned, it takes her a second to register the man standing over her, gun in hand.

"Give me your money. _Now," _he demands. Ziva, responsive now, kicks his legs out from under him. In the time it takes for Ziva to stand up, he has rectified himself as well.

"_Ziva!" _she hears someone yell. _Foolish man,_ she thinks as she sees him jump out of his car, which he has pulled over on the side of the road not ten yards from her. _I have this under control._

Ziva punches her assailant straight in the nose and it begins to gush with blood. Distracted by the pain, he does not attempt to block the blow to his stomach. Stumbling, he hits his back up against the brick wall of a building. He is cornered.

A shot rings out.

Ziva saw Brian Clemmens fall the to the ground, a growing dark stain on his navy blue uniform. Shocked, her head whips back to face the attacker, only to be instantaneously knocked to the ground.

The world goes black.

…

_Her black dress was itchy. Returning home from the cemetery, the first thing she wanted to do was take it off. She bounded up the stairs with the speed of a cheetah, but as she was about to reach the top, a voice stopped her._

"_Ziva, I want to see you in my office."_

"_I will be right there, Abba, I'm just going to change into—"_

"_**Now,**__ Ziva," Eli replied sternly. Grumbling to herself, she descended the stairs and followed her father into his study. "Have a seat," he offered in his monotonous, emotionless voice. She did as he told her, pulling up a chair and sitting in front of his desk. He sat in his office chair on the other side of the beautifully crafted piece of mahogany furniture._

"_What is it you need?" she questioned, her voice giving away as much feeling as his. It had been an emotionally trying day, and it was especially hard keeping it together._

"_You will not go into the IDF," he told her, cutting directly to the chase._

_She frowned. "But it is mandatory—"_

"_Shush. Do not question me. I have gotten your service waived. Mossad has a mission for you."_

"_Me?" she asked, almost stunned. What did Mossad want with her? She was only sixteen years old, barely old enough to serve in the IDF. And so soon after her own mother's death, as well?_

"_Yes. They need someone young, strong, cunning. I told them about you," he explained._

_Ziva couldn't help but feel a rush of heat in her cheeks. It was rare to hear such words of praise from her father's mouth, and even rarer to hear them about her. "Whatever it is, I accept."_

"_I warn you, Ziva, you may not like it. It is not an easy mission. You will need to be strong in spirit and in body."_

"_I want to serve my country, Abba. If this is how you think I can do it best, then I trust your judgment."_

_Eli smiled, obviously pleased. "Good, good."_

_Ziva fidgeted uncomfortably, fighting the urge to play with the collar of this God-awful dress. "So… What is my mission?"_

…

She wakes with a start, the unfamiliarity of the bed she lay upon alarming her. Her heart monitor begins to race, and the beeping only serves to panic her more. Why is she in a hospital? What is going on? Has her father found her?

_No, that cannot be it, think, Ziva! Anything but Eli._

A nurse races into the room, coming to her bedside. She takes Ziva's hand in her own.

"It's okay, sweetie. You're safe. Just breathe, there we go. You're okay," she soothes. Ziva's breathing evens out.

"Where are my brother and sister?" she croaks out.

"I believe your brother was contacted not too long ago. He should be here soon," the nurse assures her.

"And Tali?"

"Excuse me?"

"My sister. What about my sister?"

The nurse looks confused. "I know nothing about your sister."

"So she is not here?" Ziva asks, seeking confirmation.

"No, she is not. Do you remember why you are here?" the nurse, whose nametag reads Karen, questions.

Ziva shakes her head.

"You were attacked last night, Miss Regev. The man you were with was killed. I'm sorry," Karen informs her, giving her a pat. Ziva exhales loudly. Her father hasn't found her. That much is good.

The memories come back to her in one big wave, however. She remembers the soldier, Brian, and being attacked. It is suddenly all so vivid in her mind.

"You walked away with only a concussion and a few bruises, though. You got pretty lucky. Your baby too," the nurse adds.

Ziva looks at her, desperation in her voice. "My baby is okay? Are you sure?" If it was not, Ziva doesn't know what she will do.

"Positive. He or she was not hurt at all during the attack. But I am sorry about your friend. I am sure he was a good man."

"I did not know him. But I am sure he was, too," Ziva replies, but her voice is emotionless. So many years of hiding pain keeps many things from showing on the surface.

"It seems as though you haven't received any prenatal care, dear. We're going to have to fix that," Karen tells her. Ziva nods.

"Okay. But… I have not told my brother about… you know," she informs the nurse, "So please do not mention it."

"Very well. But he is your next to kin. He had access to your medical records," Karen reminds her.

"I know, and he will no doubt see them. But I want to tell him on my own," Ziva replies.

The nurse gives her a small smile. "I understand."

…

Tony grumbles and punches the button on the elevator. He hates hospitals. Gibbs knows that, doesn't he? Granted, the two have only known each other for no longer than a month, but he can't help but think that this little hospital visit is intentional Probie Hazing.

The door to room 231 is open, so he stands in the threshold and raps on the door to get the attention of the two women. One is obviously the nurse, the other the patient.

"My name's Anthony DiNozzo, NCIS. Stands for Naval Criminal Investigative service. Are you Ziva Regev?" he questions the woman lying in the bed.

"Yes," she replies. The nurse kindly and politely departs the room, and Tony gets a good look at the woman in the bed.

She is obviously an attractive woman, but her small frame makes him question whether she is a woman or a girl. Her hair is shiny and sleek, but parted down the middle and pasted to the sides of her face it does not live up to its full potential. Dark bags are visible under her chocolate brown eyes, and these eyes are what capture his attention. How is it possible for her eyes to look so broken but so fiery at the same time? How is it possible for them to display courage and determined resolve, but yet be so lifeless and empty as well? It's unsettlingly familiar.

His first opinion of her is a subconscious one, and it is this: she's a paradox.

"I am sorry for your loss," he tells her.

Her expression does not change. "I did not know him," she dismisses his comment. Tony picks up on an accent.

"Either way, that must have been tough," he tells her. He wants to crack a joke, like he always does to diffuse a serious situation, but he simply can't bring himself to do it. Something tells him that it would do not good here. When she does not reply, he clears his throat. "I'm here to take your statement. We're investigating the murder of Petty Officer Clemmens. Can you tell me what happened?"

The girl in the bed, Ziva, recounts her side of the story to him. She does not even bat an eyelash as she describes the action. Her words betray no emotion, and her face is just as stoic as before.

_Who is this woman?_

When she finishes the story, he is left looking at her awkwardly. "Um… Are you… okay?" he asks.

"I only sustained a concussion," she informs him.

He rolls his eyes. "I didn't mean it like that," he corrects. The desire to crack a joke grows larger by the second, but he is still unable to find anything suitable for the situation. He gets the feeling that she is not one to have her mood lightened by jokes.

"I do not know what other way there is," she responds without mission a beat. Tony just studies her for a second, searching for _some_ form of clue as to what she is thinking. She has more walls guarding her than Fort Knox.

"Ziva!"

The girl looks away from him and he thinks he sees something like relief flash in her eyes as she looks up to the doorway. As soon as it is there, however, it is gone.

"Ari," she greets calmly.

The man named Ari's gaze moves and Tony feels it focus on him. He extends his arm to the man. He is average height, obviously Middle Eastern, probably Ziva's boyfriend. "I'm Probationary Agent Tony DiNozzo, Naval Criminal Investigative Service. We're investigating the murder of Petty Officer Brian Clemmens," Tony introduces. Ari looks confused.

"Ari, Ziva's brother," he says, shaking the agent's hand. "Why is my sister a part of your investigation?"

Tony opens his mouth to reply, but Ziva cuts him off. "I will explain in a few minutes," she tells him, "Agent DiNozzo was just leaving."

Tony places a card on the bedside table. "Thank you for your time. We are going to need you to come into NCIS once you're released so we can get a sketch of the guy. Here's our card. Can we count on you to help?"

"I will be there," she assures him, but like always, her voice is void of all emotion.

All the way to the elevator, down to the basement, to the parking garage, and back to NCIS, Tony finds that he can't get his mind off of this Ziva. Her demeanor is no doubt meant as a cold front to keep people from getting too close to her, but Tony knows that only a certain amount of hurt can make someone that guarded. It isn't until he arrives at NCIS that he finally remembers where he has seen the look in her eyes before.

Ziva Regev has the eyes of a soldier returning from war.

…

_A/N: your thoughts, s'il vous plait?_


	2. Chapter 2

When the door shuts behind the retreating agent, Ari begins his rapid-fire questions.

"Are you okay? What happened? Who is this _Petty Officer_?"

Ziva swallows. "I am fine, Ari, stop worrying."

"_What. Happened?"_ he presses, impatient.

"A man attempted to mug me on the way to the bus stop after work last night. The man who was killed was a patron at the diner. He tried to stop it," Ziva informs him.

He gives a sigh of relief. "So this was not Eli?"

She shakes her head, "I highly doubt it."

Ari gives her a small, worried smile and takes her hand in his. "Zivaleh… You have got to be more careful!" he admonished.

Ziva glares at him. "I know I should not have let him get the drop on me. I was weak. It is unacceptable. But just because some _idiot_ with a gun decides to attack me... It was wrong place wrong time, Ari, and you know it."

His face softens. "I know. I just… I thought we were getting you _away_ from this violence!"

"D.C. has the highest crime rate in all of America," she points out, somewhat cheekily.

His responding frown shows that he is not amused, but in all honesty that little bit of backtalk made his heart speed up. He has not heard a joke from Ziva's mouth since she came back, and any break from her always serious, always stoic demeanor is welcome. "You know what I mean."

"You worry too much," she dismisses, shaking her head. To her surprise, he leans forward and places his hands on her shoulders. Bodily contact has been limited and rare between them since they were reunited due to Ziva's obvious discomfort, but in that moment he breaks the unspoken rule.

"Zivaleh, I worry about you and Tali every second of every day. I have only just gotten you back… Please, please do not make me lose you again." The honesty and emotion shining in his eyes leaves her taken aback. Since when did he become the expressive one?

She swallows hard, fighting the lump in her throat, battling to keep her guard up and emotions in check. "I will try my best," she promises.

His responding smile seems satisfied. "Good. You and Tali are all I have left," he admits.

Ziva looks away. _Not true,_ she thinks, _not for you. For me, yes, but not for you. You are still whole inside._ Ari still belongs to himself, his mind and soul and body are still uncorrupted and his own. Ziva does not belong to herself. She has not belonged to herself in a long time.

She snaps herself out of that train of thought before her mind can drift to just _who_ her violated soul belongs.

…

"_He is sending you to do __**what?!" **__Ari screeched, his voice raised an octave from its usual tone._

"_Ari, please, shush! Abba will hear you, calm down!" she protested._

"_No! I have a right to be angry! I should just run in there now and give him a piece of my mind!" He attempted to get up from off his bed, but Ziva was quicker. She ran to the door and slammed it shut, guarding it to keep him from leaving._

"_Don't. It is done, your efforts would be futile," she insisted. _

_Ari did not back down. "You are __**not**__ going on that mission Ziva!" His face was red with anger._

"_Yes, I am! You have no say in it! I'm sixteen years old, it's my life!"_

_He grasped her shoulders, shaking her roughly. "Do you have any idea what they'll __**do**__ to you there, Ziva?! Do you?!"_

"_Ari, let go of me," she commanded calmly, "You're hurting me."_

"_I don't care! __**Someone**__ needs to slap some sense into you!"_

"_Let me go," she insisted, her voice no longer patient. _

_Sighing, he released her shoulders and plopped down on the bed in defeat. "You cannot be serious about going through with this," he said, his eyes pleading with her. "Do you __**not know**__ what will happen to you? They will—"_

"_Shut up," she interrupted. "I know what they'll do. I know what I'm signing up for." She sat down next to him on the bed._

"_Then you are insane!"_

_She shrugged. "Maybe I am. But it is Abba's will that I do this."_

"_Forget him! Do what's best for __**you**__!"_

"_I'm doing this for my country, too," she insisted._

"_And you can serve your country in the IDF like other young women!"_

"_I'm __**not**__ like the other women! Besides, I want to make Abba proud."_

"_Abba doesn't give a fuck what happens to you. If you still don't see that, __**especially now,**__ then you are more a fool than I thought," he growled. Ziva hissed, but he continued. "Eli does not care what happens to any of us. We are just his tools. You can try all you want, but you can never make him truly proud. He does not love us."_

_Ziva's faced hardened in anger. "Shut up! You don't know a first thing about my relationship with him!"_

"_I know plenty," Ari threw back at her, "and I know enough to know that this will not end well."_

"_I am going. You can't stop me," she insisted, standing up from the bed and straightening her shirt._

_He rose from the bed as well, this time taking her face in his hands. She moved to pull away, reaching up to yank his hands off of her, but he held fast. When she stopped fighting it, he used his leverage on her to gently sit her down on the bed. Running his thumb back and forth on her soft cheek, he kneeled down in front of her so her gaze was level with his. She averted her eyes._

"_Ziva, please, look at me," he demanded gently. She reluctantly looked back up at him. She truly felt as though his eyes saw deep into her soul. "Please, I __**beg of you**__. Reconsider. You think that you can do this, but you can't. No one can. This mission in inhumane, it's wrong, it's immoral… It will break you. Please. I don't ever want to look into your beautiful eyes and see your fire gone. I do not want to ever see you broken. Do not do this. This mission is unrealistic to ask of anyone, let alone a child!" The sincerity in Ari's eyes and voice almost made her reconsider._

_Almost._

"_I am not a child," she mumbled, unable to come up with a better argument._

_Ari sighed. "Yes, you are. You're only sixteen."_

_Ziva snorted. "Even when I'm old and wrinkly, I will still be a child to you."_

_Ari shook his head. "That may be true. But it's because you are my baby sister, and I'm not going to stand by while our father sends you off to be—"_

"_Ari," Ziva interrupted, reaching up to her face and placing her own hands atop his, taking them and slowly lowering them down to her lap, "I'm going on this mission. I need to do this. I know you don't like it, but I do not have another choice." As tear traced its way down Ari's cheek, Ziva felt a rush of guilt._

_But it was what she had to do._

…

Ziva signs herself out of the hospital late that morning, the second the option presents itself to her. She has just finished up, unbeknownst to Ari, with the OB/GYN. She writes in the date—Monday, November 5th, 2001— and signs with a flourish, eager to escape this institutional building full of so much death. She does not bother calling in sick to work—surely they heard about what happened, since the murder took place right in front of the diner itself. Truly, Ziva only wants to go home and spend her day off reading with Tali, but her little sister is in school, probably oblivious to what has happened, and Ziva has a job to do. She is needed to help catch Clemmen's killer and her attacker, so help she does. Ari drops her off at the Navy Yard a half an hour later and she stands outside for a minute, watching his dumpy Camry rumble away. It is all they can afford. Ari has a nice, stable job working as a translator for a major law firm ("A friend from Edinburgh's brother owns it, and put in a good word for me," Ari explained) but his paycheck, even combined with the money they had brought with them, was barely enough to get by. Ziva was extremely frustrated to find that, without a high school diploma, the best job she could find was working the late shift at a dumpy diner. But in seven to eight months she won't be able to work, anyhow, so finding a good job is not a necessarily a priority— not that that's what she tells her brother.

How is she going to tell them about this? _He will find out soon enough, _she muses, feeling the miniscule but obvious (to her) bump on the abdomen. She should have just told him the whole truth back in Israel. Why did she keep this a secret?

The wind whips her hair and she shivers, turning around to walk into the building. She pulls out her cell phone—it is old and clunky, but it works— and dials the number on the card that the Agent gave her earlier this morning. It rings for a few seconds before being picked up.

"_Very Special Probationary Agent Anthony DiNozzo speaking,_" she hears him say. She just rolls her eyes.

"Hello. This is Ziva Regev. You told me I was to report to NCIS to help create a sketch of the killer?" Ziva replies, her voice oozing formality, the complete opposite of his.

"_Oh, hey! Yeah, when's a good time for you?"_

"I am already here."

"_Great! Thanks. I'll be down in a sec to take you to the conference room, capisce?"_

"Sì, ciao," she replies in Italian before hanging up the phone. His perkiness annoys her. It is obvious that he's a charismatic man, but Ziva knows plenty of charismatic men that are not what they seem, and it is one of those men who fathered her.

It is not too long before arrives in the elevator. She looks up upon hearing the ding and sees him motioning for her to join him in the car. When the doors slide shut, leaving her in a closed space with him, her hands involuntarily clench into fists. Many years have taught her to fear closed spaces, especially with men, and men older than her at that. It is something that she has been trying to get over, but it is not as easy as she would like.

Why can't her life just return to _normal?_

Luckily for her, the ride is short, and he does not try to make conversation. Before long she finds herself sitting in a room with a long table and comfortable-looking chairs. One of the chairs is occupied by a middle-aged woman with a drawing pad and pencils at her disposal. Ziva takes a seat in the chair that next to the woman that Agent DiNozzo pulled out for her. She tries to ignore how such chivalry makes her feel. Before all of this she would have been angry, but now it does not invoke emotions of that sort at all. His kindness surprises her, and in a good way— in the way that almost makes her want to smile.

Agent DiNozzo leaves and Ziva spends an hour with the sketch artist, making sure that every detail is in place on the man's face. She is nothing if not thorough, that much has not changed in the past two and a half years.

A rap on the door interrupts what she is telling the artist (_his nose did not have such a thick bridge)_ and it opens a second later to reveal none other than, once again, Agent DiNozzo.

"Gibbs—er, my boss—sent me up to see if you're done with the sketch," he announces.

The artist looks at Ziva. "Are we done?"

Ziva nods in affirmation. "That is the man."

The artist tears the drawing out of the pad and hands it to DiNozzo. "Thank you, Miss Regev. You have been very helpful."

Tony motions for Ziva to follow him. "I'll escort you out," he offers. Ziva does not object. She knows that a man like him will not take no for an answer, something that somewhere in her brain she registers as trouble—trouble wrapped up in a designer suit, a radiant smile, and that _hair…_

"Man, you're one talented woman. You can kick muggers' butts and recall every damn detail," he states as he observes the sketch. "Where'd you learn such crazy ninja skills?" His eyes betrayed fascination and childlike curiosity.

Ziva does not miss a beat, her trademark neutral expression still a seemingly permanent fixture on her face. "None of your business," she replies, punching the down button on the elevator. The doors slide open.

"So I take it you're Israeli?"

"Very good," Ziva replies, not an ounce of emotion in her voice. The elevator doors close and the engines begin to whir. The car starts its descent.

"So how long have you been in D.C.?"

Apparently Ziva is not going to be so lucky as to be able to spend the return trip to the lobby in silence, as well. She keeps her gaze fixed on the doors straight ahead of her. "Two weeks."

"Really?" he questions, obviously surprised. "So what brought you here?"

Her heart gives a small pang, but like always she does not let it show outwardly. She swivels her head to look up at him, crossing her arms in front of her chest. "Are you _always_ this toes-ey?"

His barking laugh catches her off guard. Her eyes widen questioningly. "Did I say something amusing?"

The doors open with a ding and both she steps out into the lobby. He remains in the car and punches the button for the third floor.

"I think you mean _nosey,_" he corrects, his million-watt smile plastered on his face.

As the doors slide shut, she feels for the first time in so long a genuine urge to smile. She denies it, of course, but the part of her brain that desperately wants to heal recognizes it and files it away in the metaphorical folder labeled _small victories._

_A/N: thanks for reading! I hope you liked it! Please don't expect daily updates. I just happened to have the time. Thanks to __**dvd123, prince-bishop, pirate-princess1, Angelhaggis, Liraeyn, **__and __**Cameron-sarah**__ for the awesome support! _

_Tell me what you think! _


	3. Chapter 3

"You're home!" The words are Ziva's only warning and she has little time to prepare herself before the little girl comes crashing into her.

"Tali!" Ziva exclaims in surprise, "Did you just get home? How was your first day of school?" The Hebrew rolls off of her tongue, a nice break from having spoken in English most of the day.

Talia released her hold around her older sister's torso and frowned. "Fine, it was fine, but Ziva, _what happened?_ Are you okay? Ari told me this morning that you were attacked and were in the hospital but he wouldn't let me see you!"

Ziva gives her a small smile. Such a thing is rare in most of her relationships, but not with Tali. Tali is the exception, even if her smiles are sometimes fake and for her sister's sake. She is the only person in the world for whom Ziva lets some of her walls down. "Calm down, I'm fine. It was a concussion, that's it, I promise," she assures her, taking the smaller girl's hand and leading her to the kitchen. "I am making dinner. What do you want?"

Tali folds her arms over her chest. "Don't try to change the subject. I want the details," she insists.

Ziva goes on to explain how she met Brian Clemmens and what happened when they were attacked. Tali gasps. "Did he die?"

Ziva's brow furrows. Sometimes she forgets that Tali is still only eleven years old. She's mature for her age, but she is still somewhat naïve. Her compassionate and caring nature is one of the reasons that Ziva thanks her lucky stars that they were able to escape Israel. Tali would not have lasted one moment in Mossad. "Yes, he did."

Tali simply nods, understanding. Despite her naiveté, she understands death very well, something that Ziva regrets, but unlike her older sister, her exposure to such violence never made her numb to it.

"So you did have a good day, though?" Ziva asks, eager to hear how American public school was working out for her. As she is talking she grabs the hummus from the fridge and sits it on the table. "People were nice to you?"

Tali just shrugs as she dumps the bag of pita on the counter next to the hummus. "I guess. But I miss my friends, and on top of that, I was worried about you all day…"

Ziva feels a small pang in a deeply hidden place of her heart at her words as the feelings of guilt about turning Tali's life completely upside-down resurface. _You had no choice,_ she tries to assure herself, _it was for the good of all three of you that you left._

"You know why we had to leave," Ziva tells her, trying to ignore the gnawing in her gut. The guilt for tearing Tali away from all she's ever known is joined by the guilt and nervousness of another topic: the real, primary reason that Ziva needed to get out of Israel, which Ziva had yet to expose. There were many reasons, of course, but she has still to tell anybody about what sparked in her mind this need for escape in the first place. If her father found out about the baby… Ziva shudders to think of the consequences. She did not _lie_ to her sister and brother, but she did not exactly tell them the truth, either.

For a moment she considers telling Tali right then and there, but quickly dismisses it. She needs more time. She's not done procrastinating yet.

"I know why we left, Ziva, but it doesn't make this any easier," Tali points out.

Ziva sighs and pops the lid of the hummus container. "I know." She takes a second to eat, savoring the flavor of home (even if it is crappy store-bought American hummus), before speaking again. "And you do not need to worry about me so much. I can take care of myself," Ziva insists.

Tali shoots her a doubtful look. "I don't know if you remember, but we thought you were _dead_ for a good two and a half years! I apologize if I worry _sometimes! _I can't help it, neither can Ari. We just got you back, by some miracle, and we're not going to let you go again. We missed you so much."

Ziva leans over and places a kiss on her baby sister's cheek. "I missed you too. So, so much, _tateleh._"

"I'm sick of you getting hurt, Ziva," Tali tells her, tears in her innocent eyes. Ziva leans against the countertop and pulls her sister in for a hug, burying her face in Tali's hair and memorizing her smell.

"I am too," she admits, "but we're together now, and we're safe. That's all that I care about."

…

"DiNozzo."

"Yes, boss?" Tony replies automatically, looking up from his computer screen and across the bullpen.

"Call that Regev girl. We need her to identify the suspect," Gibbs orders in his trademark minimalistic speech.

The smile that spreads across Tony's face is bigger than it should be. It's been two days since he last saw her and he has been hoping that the opportunity would present itself for him to talk to her again. Something about her fascinates him. She is so fiery yet so broken and guarded, and he wants to know how she got this way. He knows she hides incredible depth behind those walls of hers, but she is no doubt so wary of being hurt that she refuses to let anyone, even sometimes those close to her, see it. He knows because he's the same way, even though he hides behind jokes, his playboy persona, and movie references while she hides behind that haunting ever-neutral expression.

Not only is she emotionally fascinating, but she can also kick butt and he won't deny that she probably looked damn good doing it. Slap on top of that her accent and overall exotic-ness, along with a mysterious past, and she's the epitome of intriguing. She's the recipe for capturing a DiNozzo's attention.

"Yes, boss," he replies dutifully, picking up the phone and dialing. It's around noon, so he is assuming her shift at the diner hasn't started yet. Gratefully, she picks up.

"_Hello?_"

A smile appears on his face when he hears her voice. Her accent made even the simplest words a seduction. "Miss Regev? It's Agent DiNozzo. We're sorry to bother you again—" _not_ "—but we ran that sketch you helped with and came up with a match. We found gunshot residue on him and we're ninety-nine percent sure he's our guy. We need you to come in and pick him out of a line-up, though. We want this case to be airtight."

"_I will be there in twenty minutes,"_ she tells him and he hears the click signaling that she hung up. Shaking his head, he sits the phone back in the cradle and wonders, for what feels like the billionth time in the past two days, what she hides behind that mask.

He goes down to the main lobby about twenty minutes later and ends up waiting for five more before she shows up. She goes through the metal detectors, removing only her cell phone from her pocket (he notices that unlike most women he knows she does not carry a purse) and stepping through.

"I apologize. The bus was late. It is storming really badly out," she tells him. A cadence of thunder backed up her statement appropriately.

"I see that. Don't worry, it's fine." He studies her for a second, hoping that something had happened over the past two days and he would somehow be able to look into her eyes and see what he's supposed to: her soul. Sadly, her soul is about as easy to find as it was two days ago. Finding her soul is like finding Waldo, only twenty times more challenging.

But DiNozzos like a good challenge.

They step into the elevator and the ride to the interrogation level is silent. He directs her in his most professional manner into Observation A where Gibbs is waiting for them. The men file into Interrogation, and it does not take Ziva long at all to pick out her assailant.

"Number three," she says, and Tony thinks he can hear the case slamming shut. Another killer caught, another murderer brought to justice. Looking at Ziva, he thinks that she does not look as happy as she should.

Of course when does she ever look happy? Or sad? Or angry? Or annoyed? Tony stops himself at the last one and smiles inwardly to himself with pride. He _has _made her show emotion at least once. It seems that the one emotion she can't hide is annoyance, especially when it comes to talkative NCIS agents.

Gibbs turns away from the one way glass to leave the room and book their murderer, and as he leaves he says, "Thank you for coming down. DiNozzo, please escort Miss Regev out."

It suddenly hits Tony that this is most likely the last time he will be able to see this woman if he wants it to be on a premise that's not borderline creepy or stalker-like. He needs to turn up his game. He doesn't want to forget about her. He doesn't think he _can_ forget about her.

They enter the elevator, the doors shut, engines begin to whir, and he knows he may have only seconds. For a brief moment he considers pulling a Gibbs and hitting the emergency stop button, but he quickly dismisses the idea. How would he explain why he did that?

It seems that, for once in his life, nature or fate or _whatever_ is looking kindly upon him, for the elevator jerks to a stop on its own and the lights go out. The emergency lights under the rail light up, illuminating the small metallic box with a bluish glow.

"What the hell?" Tony curses, looking around. He sees Ziva doing the same. The storm must have wiped the power out, and instantaneously something that's usually a major inconvenience becomes the luckiest thing he's ever experienced.

"We are stuck, yes?"

"Yes, thank you Captain Obvious," Tony replies sarcastically. "I guess the storm knocked out the power. It should be back on soon," he assures her.

To his surprise, he sees something other than annoyance in her eyes this time. There is something almost akin to _fear_. She kicks the door and curses in a language he assumes is Hebrew.

Setting aside his surprise—no one can remain so calm and neutral all the time, so this was really to be expected of her—he admits that he is somewhat glad to see her façade fall. It gives him a better shot at getting through to her.

As she kicks the door for the fifth time in a row, Tony decides to act. He reaches out in front of him and takes her shoulders in his hands, trying to calm her. She whirls around, displacing his hinds.

"Do not touch me," she demands.

He pulls his arms back to his side. "Is our fearless Israeli ninja… claustrophobic?" he questions lightheartedly, referring back to joking as his preferred method of lightening situations.

He should know by now that does not work on her.

"Perhaps. Do not mock me," she responds, her voice hard as rock.

"Sorry, I wasn't trying to. I, uh… I am usually the one who tries to lighten the situation," he attempts to explain.

"Yes. I noticed," she tells him, and he thinks he notices her voice thawing a little.

"How's your head?" he asks hoping that he can get her to open up a little.

"Fine. I have had worse," she replies vaguely.

He ponders that for a second, discreetly looking her up and down as she turns away from him. Tony's eyes flit to her abdomen where he notices her hands resting in such a way that he's only ever seen in one circumstance. At first he is shocked, and then a little disappointed. He had not considered the fact that she might already belong to someone else.

He sucks in a deep breath and somehow musters up the balls to ask his next, daring question. "How far along?" It was certainly a risk, but without a little risk he would get nowhere.

Her head turns back to him and she follows his gaze. He looks up to her eyes where he at first sees a hint of defensiveness, but it changes to defeat a few seconds afterward. She shrugs.

"Six weeks, maybe two months," she replies, much to his surprise. Her hand moves back and forth across her belly, gently, almost reverently. "I did not think it was noticeable," she says, her voice so soft that Tony wasn't entirely sure he was supposed to hear it.

"It's not," he assures her, "But the way you were holding it, I could tell. Your brother know?"

She shakes her head, looking away from him. "No. Nor does my sister. No one knows but the doctors."

Tony is surprised. "Not even the father?" He knows he's skating on thin ice here, and is very close to crossing into inappropriate and nosey.

"Why do you care?" she asks, looking back to him once again. She leans up against the elevator wall and folds her arms across her chest.

"It's my job to care," he replies smoothly.

"No, it is your job to solve crime," she throws back.

Tony smiles amusedly. "Touché, Miss Regev."

"You can… you can call me Ziva," she tells him, her voice again soft.

Tony's responding smile is brilliant. Can it be that she is actually opening up a little? _One step at a time, DiNozzo,_ he urges himself.

"Okay. But only if you call me Tony," he bargains, bluffing of course.

"I think that is doable," she nods, and Tony thinks he sees a hint of a smile playing on the corners of her lips. No one can resist the DiNozzo charm, not even emotionally distant ninjas.

A moment later, saving them from potential awkward silence (or saving Tony from saying something he will regret, whichever you prefer), the power comes back on, the blue glow disappeares, and the motors start back up. The elevator moves a foot upwards before the doors slide open.

"Perhaps I should drop by that diner sometime. I've heard you have good soup," he says, taking the ultimate leap of faith.

"I would not know. I've only worked there a week," she shrugs, stepping out of the elevator.

"Maybe I should see for myself, then."

"You're insufferable," she tells him, her voice betraying her amusement. Tony feels his heart leap at such a step forward for her.

"So I've been told. See you tonight, Ziva," he invites himself, smiling brilliantly at her. She just gives him a miniscule smirk—so small Tony thought perhaps he had imagined it—and turns and walks away. She did not say yes, but she did not say _no,_ either.

When the elevator doors close, Tony is euphoric.

…

_She did not see her father again after the day of her mother's funeral. She had hoped that perhaps he would be at her briefing for her mission the day she was to depart, but Hadar told her that he had a meeting he had to go to and that he sends his regards. She pretended it did not hurt, but she knew that she was lying to herself._

_Now she was standing alone in a dark alley, with nothing to her name but the ratty clothes on her back, going over her information in her head once again. Her name was Ziva Shahar. Her parents were dead. She ran away from the home she was put in. She's starving and desperate._

_She's a sitting duck._

_Ziva had not expected to be dumped her in this dark alley in Be'er Sheva so unceremoniously. After they had gone through her cover and her mission with her, she was handed off to be made to look the part. She was now dressed in a dirty blue t-shirt and torn, faded jeans. Her hair hung around her face in wild, unkempt, unclean curls. She argued when they tried to take away her necklace, and eventually they let her keep it. Ziva did not know it at the time, but such a seemingly small thing as keeping that necklace around her neck would provide her with a lot of much-needed comfort in the future. When she looked sufficiently like a runaway living on the streets, she had boarded a plane for the short southeast trip to Be'er Sheva. Looking back onto the Tarmac, she had seen Hadar standing a good distance away, no intention of getting on the plane evident. It seemed that even her handler was not coming with her. The plane took off and landed shortly in the city, where she had gotten in an inconspicuous car with the Mossad Agents escorting her. The trip was short and they had given her quick instructions on how to get to her destination from where she was. Three blocks north and five east and she would come across a complex of warehouses in the very inner city, they had told her. _

_That was where she was now._

_Remembering her instructions, she slid open the door to the warehouse quietly closed it behind her. She lay down on the hard ground, waiting to be found. She would not receive any sort of back-up on this mission, which was something she'd expected, but was only just hitting her now. If she messed up, there would be no extraction team. It was such a long term mission they could not afford for her to have back up. Mossad Agents in the area would contact her once a week and she would leave them any information she'd gathered at the designated drop point, but other than that, she was on her own._

_As she laid shivering on the cold, hard ground, Ziva knew that she had never felt so alone._

…

_She did not allow herself to sleep that night. Her head was racing, heart pounding, adrenaline rushing. She could not have slept if she'd tried. _

_Mossad had set a trap, and she was the bait, the Trojan Horse._

_She did not have to wait too long to be found. The second she heard footsteps she instantly evened out her breathing and let her jaw go slack, appearing as though she was in fact asleep. The footsteps approached, more than one person, if she were to guess._

"_Hmm. What do we have here?" came a voice. The words were in Arabic, but Ziva understood._

"_A homeless runaway hiding from the cold, I suppose," said another. Their voices dripped with sliminess that made Ziva's skin crawl._

"_She looks pretty enough," the first man whispered to the other._

"_We could use her. We need the money. Why not take another girl? The clients are tiring of the others."_

"_Yes, I suppose you're right," muttered the other one pensively._

"_I guess it's settled then," were the last words that Ziva heard before she felt the boot digging roughly into her ribcage, startling her awake. She let out a gasp._

"_Shalom. Shh. Do not be afraid. You are safe with us."_

"_Yes. We will take care of you."_

A/N: So… yeah. Oops. I wrote another. Hope you don't mind the rapid updates. I can't get this story out of my head!

Regarding Ari: I'm going with the assumption that it was being the mole in Hamas that turned Ari's hatred towards Eli into pure obsession with revenge. I'm operating with the idea that since Ari's mother was killed, Ziva and Tali are pretty much all he has. He is a caring, protective older brother (he exhibited those qualities even in Kill Ari) and since he never ended up undercover in Hamas (they go to America before that can happen) he never really turns bad and those murderous ideas are not implanted in his brain quite yet. We don't know much about Ari pre-Hamas, so just roll with it:)

Thanks so much to **Cameron-sarah, Liraeyn, dvd123, pirate-princess1, **and **prince-bishop** for the amazing reviews! I treasure each one!


	4. Chapter 4

Ziva does not admit it to herself, but she is disappointed that night when eight o'clock rolls around and Tony has not made an appearance. She puts her head down and focuses for the next hour on her job, meticulously cleaning the countertop.

What she doesn't expect, however, is to hear the door open at a quarter past nine and see him walk in. He is dressed in jeans and a loose-fitting, button-up collared shirt, very different from the suit she has always seen him dressed in. He smiles sheepishly.

"Sorry I'm here so late. We caught a case and he didn't let us go until eight thirty," he explains.

"I was not sure you were serious about coming," she tells him.

A slightly guilty look passes over his face as he traverses the empty diner, approaching the bar Ziva stood behind. "I didn't mean to stand you up, but how about I buy you a beer to make up for it?"

"I am working, Tony," she admonishes, studying him as he sits down on one of the bar stools. What is he up to? What is his endgame?

"Okay, then, _I'll_ have the beer. What have you got?"

Ziva purses her lips. "Guinness, Yuengling—"

"I'll take a Guinness," he interrupts, sending her a small flirtatious smirk.

Ziva uses getting his drink as an excuse to turn away to hide the color that floods her cheeks. Luckily, it's gone by the time the glass fills up and she turns back to him, setting the beer on the countertop.

He takes a sip before speaking. "So what are you doing working _here_, huh? You're obviously bright. So why are you working crappy hours at an equally crappy diner?"

She doesn't even protest his insults towards the restaurant; she agrees, the place is dumpy. She looks down and fiddles with the bottle opener self-consciously. "You think I am… bright?" The inflection in her voice makes her question sound more like a statement.

"Of course. Any place would be lucky to have you," he replies, shrugging nonchalantly.

Ziva is not sure how to respond to that. "I did not complete high school," she answers, deciding that honesty was the easiest way to explain this to him.

"You don't have a diploma?" He takes another sip of the beer.

She shakes her head, "No. Besides, with… this," she gestures to her abdomen, "it would be pointless to find a nice, stable job. I will have to stop working by June, anyhow."

His eyes study her, and she can see his brain working, digesting what she's said. "I understand. You're very honest."

She just looks at him blankly, laughing inwardly at the irony. To her knowledge, no one has ever called her _honest_ before. "That is not something that I get a lot."

"So it's just me, then?"

"You are…" she trails off, unable to find the words she's looking for. Sometimes her English still fails her, and it's perhaps the one language that she's had the least practice with.

"Charismatic? Persuasive? Charming?" he supplies.

"…Easy to talk to," she finishes. Of course, he is all the things that he suggested, as well, but she's not prepared to admit that.

"I'll take that as a compliment. So, you've been in the states for a couple of weeks now?" he asks, changing the subject before it can get overly awkward.

Ziva fidgets uncomfortably. This is one subject that she prefers to stay away from. "Yes." She is hoping that he has not noticed that she managed to get a green card and visa_awfully_ fast…

"How do you like it so far?"

"It is… different," she supplies, ending it there.

"Different good or different bad?"

Ziva purses her lips. "I have not decided yet."

"So it's just you and your sister and brother?" he inquires.

"Yes," she answers, her hand clenching at her side.

"Well I already met your brother, but tell me about your sister. How old is she?" Ziva inwardly sighs with relief. Now Tali she can talk about.

"Her name is Talia, she is eleven."

"I'm sure she's precious," Tony states outright.

Ziva looks up at him, meeting his gaze. "She is my light," she responds seriously.

"And your mom?"

Ziva looks back down at the rag in her hands and continues scrubbing immediately. "Dead," she replies shortly, emotionlessly.

"I'm sorry. Mine, too. Father?" he asks. This time Ziva does not reply. It's too close, too personal. After a few moments, he continues. "What kind of skeletons do you have in your closet?"

Ziva hisses and looks back up at him, her eyes dangerous. "The kind that are none of your earwax," she tells him, her voice short.

He looks genuinely apologetic. "Sorry. I crossed the line."

"Yes, you did," she answers, her eyes blazing. "Are you finished?"

"Yeah, sorry, I'll try not to be too nosey," he replies.

"I meant with your drink."

"Oh, yeah, that too. And by the way, it's _beeswax,_ not earwax," he corrects as she takes the glass from him.

Ziva briefly goes into the kitchen to place the dirtied glass in the sink, taking a second away from him to compose herself. She is no longer angry with him. She knows that he means well, and to a point his questions almost flattered her. No one has cared this much to ask her about these things in a long time. But she is not prepared to tell people. She walks out of the kitchen to find him standing next to the bar stool. He hands her a ten.

"For the beer," he tells her, "Keep the change."

She shakes her head. "I do not take charity."

He pouts. "Come on, Ziva, it's like four bucks. Just keep it. I'm doing something nice. You should feel special, that doesn't happen too often."

She just studies him for the umpteenth time that night. "I am not sure that I believe that."

"I'll take that as a compliment," he says, smiling at her, "'Night, Ziva." He turns away and begins walking through the empty dining room towards the door.

"Will I see you again?" she asks, hoping that the answer would be yes for some inexplicable reason. After all, all he has done in the past half-hour is interrogate her; she ignores the part of her brain that tells her that he has done much, much more.

"'Course. Hasta mañana."

Ziva finds herself pleased with this answer.

…

_Looking up at the two men, Ziva knew it was game time. Instantly she felt herself sink into Ziva Shahar's shoes—a terrified and starving runaway just looking for shelter._

"_I'm sorry, I didn't mean to trespass—" Ziva began, her voice quavering._

"_Stand up," the taller of the two men ordered. He had a narrow jaw covered in stubble and short, black hair. His eyes were black as night and they pierced Ziva's confidence. When she did as she was told, he continued. "What is your name, girl?"_

"_Z-ziva…" she told him, shaking slightly. She would have loved to be able to say that the nervousness in her demeanor was all for show and she was only acting, but it would be a lie. This was the real world. It wasn't a training exercise anymore._

"_Where are your parents, Ziva?" asked the other man. He was built differently than the first. While the first man was tall and somewhat lanky, the second was shorter and broader. His muscles bulged, visible even through his shirt. He had a broad, square face and raven hair that was long enough to touch the base of his neck._

"_I ran away," she explained._

"_I see. And you've been living on the streets since?" he inquired. Ziva nodded quickly, jumpily. The tall man spoke up._

"_I am Kameel," he introduced, pointing to himself before pointing to the second man, "and this is Harim. We might be able to help you."_

_Ziva frowned. "How could you possibly help me?" she scoffed._

"_You seem to have stumbled upon this place in a perfect stroke of luck. Here we take in girls who have nowhere else to go. We clothe them, feed them, bathe them, and put a roof over their heads. We give them a home."_

_She put on a skeptical look. "At what price?"_

"_Yes, well, we do expect some services in return, but it is not a bad deal. You get taken care of for hardly anything in return."_

"_And if I should want to leave later?"_

"_Then you can leave, we are not going to stop you. What do you say, Ziva?" Kameel questioned._

_She shrugged. "I do not see why not," she mused, studying the face of the man in front of her. His responding smile made her uneasy in its almost predatory nature. She hated him already._

"_Great, great. Please, follow us. We have an open room that we can show you to," he told her, reaching out and placing his hand on the small of her back, guiding her forward. They walked for a minute, navigating the warehouse. It was not like any warehouse she had been in before—these men had obviously made changes. Pieces of plywood were stood on their edges and used to make walls that were more like dividers than anything. They did not stretch all the way to the high ceiling, but they came close. After walking down a narrow plywood-lined corridor for about a hundred feet, they came across an open, empty area. There were four doors, two on the wall directly in front of them, one on the wall to the left, and one on the wall to the right. It was the door on the left that the men approached. Kameel inserted a key into the doorknob and the door creaked open. It was another corridor, smaller than the last, with three doors on the right and three on the left. It was the last door on the right that they gestured towards. They pushed it open to reveal a small room. It was furnished with a twin-size cot in the right corner and a bedside table with a small lamp on it. The room was about nine by ten feet, tiny but better than she'd dared to hope for._

"_You'll be staying here for the first few weeks while you get acclimated," Harim told her._

"_And after that?"_

"_We'll worry about that when the time comes. Now, it's the middle of the night. Get some sleep. We'll be back tomorrow morning with food and clothes for you, Ziva," Kameel then bid her to sleep well before he and Harim shut the door, leaving her alone once again._

_Their fake kind attitude angered Ziva. They acted as though they were doing this out of the kindness of their hearts, but she knew better. They were nothing more than members of a terrorist organization that used this as a source of income. While many terrorist groups used drug manufacturing to fund their organization, this one used a child prostitution ring._

_She only took solace in knowing that she was helping to take this down._

_She sat down on the bed, and as she did so its flimsy metal frame gave an audible creak. Exhausted, she lay down and rested her head upon the thin pillow, wrapping the blanket around her body. She reached up and fondled the pennant around her neck_

_Feeling its familiar and comforting shape, she could almost pretend that everything was okay._

…

She pushes open the door to Ari's room gently. It is late, nearly half past ten, and she has just returned from work, but she has spent the past half hour on the bus working up the courage to tell Ari her secret. She's not about to let that go to waste.

This conversation is long overdue.

"Ziva?" he questions, sitting up and flicking on the light next to him. "Did you just get home?"

"Yes. I, uh… we need to talk," she tells him, entering the room fully.

He scoots over a few inches and pats the side of the bed, inviting her. "What's wrong?" he inquires, concern filling his voice. She sits down next to him, wringing her hands nervously.

Ziva sucks in a breath. "I have not been… entirely honest with you," she admits, her voice soft and timid. His eyebrows raise.

"Spit it out, Ziva," he insists impatiently.

"I told you I left my mission because it had become too much and I was tired of being used. And that was true, but… I withheld information from you," she tells him, shame in her voice.

"_Today,_ Ziva," he pushes. Ziva's head raises and her eyes meet his.

"Ari, I am pregnant."

There it is: the bombshell, the game-changer, the _truth_ that she had so badly procrastinated telling him. He sucks in a shocked breath, his eyes widening.

"_Ziva!_ How the _hell_ could you keep this from me?!" he yells, anger and pain evident in his voice.

She looks away from him. "I'm sorry. I meant to tell you—"

"You _meant to_?"

"Yes! I kept _trying _to tell you, but it was never the right time—"

"Bull! The right time was when I asked you why you left your mission. _That _was the right time, not _now,_ now that we've moved halfway around the world!"

"And what would it have changed if I had told you then, huh? What would be different? It would not have _changed_ anything!" she insists, defending herself.

A small voice from the door cuts Ziva off before she can begin. "Is everything okay?" Tali's small head peeks into the room, concern in her expressive eyes.

"We're fine, Tali, go back to bed," Ziva tells her little sister. After a moment of indecision, the door shuts and they hear her footsteps go down the hallway, into the room that she and Ziva share, before they finally stop.

Ziva turns back to Ari. "I was going to tell you, but…"

"You lost the nerve every time you did," he finishes for her. She looks at him gratefully.

"Yes. Ari, I was… I _am_ ashamed," she admits, her voice sounding very much like a little child.

To her surprise, he leans over and pulls her into his embrace. "I know, but you don't need to be. I don't think any less of you. I should've seen it sooner."

"You could not have known," she assures him.

"But I should have. I'm your older brother and it's my job to know. But what's done is done, and we need to focus on the future."

"Ari, I don't know if I can do this," she admits, her voice pained, "How do I take care of a child?"

"We'll worry about that when the time comes. You don't need to borrow tomorrow's trouble. We'll get through this, one day at a time," he promises.

"You are very good at pep-talks," Ziva compliments. His arms around her tighten a little.

"I know."

_A/N: I think I'm addicted to writing my own story. There are SO many other things I need to be doing than this. Oh well._

_Thanks SO much to __**pirate-princess1, 8DancingInTheRain8, Liraeyn, prince-bishop, dvd123, **__and __**Angelhaggis**__ for the amazing reviews! And a special shout out and thank you to __**Cameron-sarah,**__ who has pretty much been my sounding board and helper for this story for the past few days:) If you get the chance and you liked Ziva and Tali stories, check out her story __**Mishpacha.**__ It's awesome:)_


	5. Chapter 5

_Warning: This chapter contains dark material which may be triggering._

…

The wind whips across her face as she steps out of the building she has developed a strong distaste for in the past two days. She used to like school, but picking up and starting over is hard, especially for a sixth grader.

"Tali!"

At first she thinks it's just the wind playing tricks with voices, but upon looking in the direction from which it came she quickly discerns that it was no trick. To her surprise, she spots her older sister standing next to the bus she was supposed to board. She grins and runs over to her, her hair waving wildly around her.

"What are you doing here?" she asks. Ziva shrugs.

"I thought I would walk you home. It's not too far."

Tali's brow furrows. "Any particular reason?"

"There _is_ something we need to discuss, but it can wait until you tell me how your day was," Ziva prompts. They begin to walk, heading away from the school bus lot.

"Is it what you are Ari were arguing about last night?" Tali inquires, not letting the subject change.

"Perhaps. But first you tell me about your day, _then_ I will tell you what I have to tell you, hmm?"

"It was fine," she insists, but she is lying through her teeth. Usually she would not waste a moment complaining to Ziva about how terrible school has been so far, but she knew that Ziva already felt guilty enough for upturning her life.

Of course, since Tali's day _hasn't_ been bad enough already, something else must occur to make it even worse than before.

"Hey, look, it's that weird new girl!" taunts a voice, calling out from behind the sisters. They whirl around to find two boys standing outside the entrance to Tali's bus, pointing at her. They looked to be a few years older than Tali—probably thirteen or fourteen year old eighth graders.

"Yeah, that's right, walk home! You're not welcome on our bus! This bus is for _Americans_ only, _freak!"_

A teacher standing near them begins to reprimand the boys, and Tali turns away, continuing to walk in the opposite direction. Ziva just continues to stare, shocked and angry.

"That's right, walk away! Walk all the way back home to _your_ country!" the first boy yells out, despite the teacher's scolding.

"_Go fuck yourself, you xenophobic assholes!"_ Ziva shouts, a dangerous look in her eyes, her Hebrew words flying through the air and reaching the ears of the two boys. Tali laughs out loud at the surprised and somewhat scared look on the two teenagers' faces. She is surprised at Ziva's language, but at the same time it is to be expected. She's Ziva's baby sister, and she is fiercely protective of her.

"Let's go," Ziva tells Tali, turning away from the lot and walking in the direction of home. Her face is stone hard. "Why didn't you tell me you are being bullied?" Ziva asks after a minute of walking in heavy silence.

Tali shrugs. "You have enough to worry about. But thanks for that."

"Tali, I know you're unhappy here, but—"

"I know, I know. We had to leave so Abba didn't get mad at you for leaving your mission—" Tali sighs, waving her hand in the air dismissively. She _knows_ why they left, but that doesn't mean she likes it. Ziva frowns.

"No, Tali. That's not why we left. I mean, _yes,_ it _is_ why we left, but… That was not the main reason."

"I thought we did it for your safety?" Tali questions, confused. Has Ziva lied to her?

"We did. But it was not just my safety I was worried about," Ziva informs her, her voice hesitant.

"Ziva, I already know that you wanted to keep me out of Mossad—"

"That is true, but that is not what I was talking about," Ziva insists, and Tali can tell that her sister is frustrated with her jumping to conclusions.

"Then _what?"_

"I... I'm…" Ziva's voice fades out, and Tali raises her eyebrows expectantly, "…going to have a baby."

Tali stops dead in her tracks. "_What?!_" she screeches, completely caught off guard.

"Look, Tali, I'm so sorry—"

"How could you not tell me before?!" she exclaims, her eyes flitting back and forth from Ziva's face down to her midsection.

"I am a coward," Ziva sighs. "There were so many times that I almost told you but… I procrastinated."

Tali just studies her sister. "Ziva, at least tell me who the father is. Is it Michael? You know I'm not fond of him—"

"I was on a mission. I did not have time for such… daliances," Ziva reminds her.

Tali frowns, thinking for a second, before… "Oh, Ziva…" she exhales, her voice pained. Tali knows of Ziva's mission, even though Ari was reluctant to tell her.

"And now you know," Ziva shrugs, looking away.

Tali just shakes her head at the shame she sees on Ziva's face. "Please don't shut me out," she begs.

"You can't understand, Tali. You're just a child. I was hoping to not have to burden you with this knowledge," Ziva explains.

"I am mature for my age," Tali insists, somewhat insulted, crossing her arms over her chest.

"But you should _not_ have to deal with these things!"

"It doesn't matter what should be. It's irrelevant," she points out, "Only the future matters."

They lapse into silence and finally, after a minute of staring into each other's eyes heatedly, Ziva resumes their trip home. Side by side, they continue to march down the sidewalk, composing themselves.

"So are you hoping for a boy or a girl?" Tali begins. She wishes she had dealt with that better.

Ziva shrugs. "A girl, I suppose. Even though I was sort of a tomboy, I do not know about boys…"

Tali looks over at her older sister, sensing her hesitation. "You'll be a great mother, Ziva. And I'll be the aunt that spoils her rotten."

Ziva looks down at her and Tali sees the fear that she usually hides so well shining in her eyes. "Tali, I have no idea what I'm doing."

The younger girl just looks up at her sister, sadness in her eyes. She hates those men for what they forced Ziva to endure and what they consequently turned her into. "You'll figure it out," she promises, "I know you will."

Tali looks up at Ziva's face, but all she sees is doubt.

…

_The next morning—or what she assumed to be morning as there were no windows in her tiny room—Kameel arrived with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in one hand and a cup of water in the other. Around his wrist hung a plastic bag. She woke up upon hearing the door open and she sat up quickly in the bed, alert and vigilant. She prepared herself for a fight, but then remembered her cover and quickly told her muscles to relax._

"_I brought food and clothing," he told her, giving her that fake smile that she despised so much._

"_Thank you," she replied, trying to keep her disgust off her face._

"_Look, Ziva, you're a smart girl. I'm sure you know by now what we expect you to do in return for our kindness," he prompted._

_She nodded. "You want to… pimp me out, yes?"_

_The man smirked. "You make it sound so… vulgar. Don't worry, it won't be all too often. Once, maybe twice a week. You can handle that, right? After all, what's your alternative? Starving on the streets?"_

"_I suppose," she replied half-heartedly._

"_You do not sound like you are fully invested in this," he observed, eyeing her skeptically. He placed the food on her beside table._

"_Well, I have never… you know…"_

"_Had sex?" he supplied for her._

"_Yes," she answered, her voice soft. She saw a glint of excitement in his eyes, but he quickly hid it. Ziva did her best to hide her disgust._

"_Society puts too much weight on it. It doesn't have to be a personal, emotional act. It's simply two people relieving their mutual urges. It's natural, it's human. It's not a personal matter," he insisted. It took all the restraint Ziva had for her lip not to curl up in distaste. That was a similar speech to the one that had been given to her by the Mossad Officer briefing her on the mission. When she had asked him to confirm the fact that she would in fact be raped on a regular basis, he had told her off. _

"_Officer David," he'd said, "It's hardly rape. It will be consensual. Do not put so much emotion behind sex. It, like your body, is just another asset that you can use to your advantage. Let go of your teenage fantasies about it. That doesn't really exist. You use sex for information, it's a tool, a weapon, not a weakness." Ziva hadn't liked his answer, but she didn't voice her thoughts. _

"_When is my first job?" she asked, coming back to the present. Kameel took the clothing from the bag and held it up for her to see. It was a skimpy, black and baby pink lace negligee. _

"_Tonight."_

"_That soon?" she asked, eyebrows raising. He shrugged._

"_We have a client. You're going to have to do it sometime."_

"_Yes, I suppose so," she replied, her voice monotonous._

"_I'll leave you to it, then." He began to walk towards the door._

"_What do I do in the meantime?"_

"_Do you like books?"_

"_Yes," she answered._

"_In the room across the hall in a small collection of books. Help yourself," he tells her._

"_And the bathroom?"_

"_Ah, yes, I forgot. If you go back down this hallway and open the door, the bathroom is the farthest door on the left. You'll find makeup in there, too, for tonight. Feel free to take a shower. Make yourself presentable."_

_He then turned on his heels and walked out the door._

…

_Ziva stared at herself in the mirror, not recognizing anything she saw. As she observed her full-body reflection, she couldn't help but notice that she looked __**hot.**__ The lingerie he gave her exhibited her legs, breasts, and toned stomach, and her now-dry hair framed her face in its wild, untamed fashion. _

_But she couldn't help but be ashamed at whom she was looking hot __**for.**__ This was not how she imagined her first time to be._

_Her father had warned her not to dream. Perhaps he had been right. This was her life now, she needed to suck it up and get used to it. _

_She had yet to see any of the other girls, something that puzzled her constantly. Where were they? Why was she being kept separate? Were they not also at this warehouse?_

_She shook her head, saving her questions for another time. Her bare feet traced the way back to the room she was to stay in. The urge to explore was becoming almost unmanageable, but she knew that they would come soon to take her to the client. She needed to be back in her room, waiting, when they came for her._

_So wait she did._

_She had completely lost her sense of time, but she would have guessed that it was thirty minutes later that Kameel reappeared in her doorway. A pleased smile spread across his face as he laid eyes on her._

"_Stand up," he commanded. She did as she was told. "Spin."_

_She complied, turning around so he could see her entire body. When she looked back, he was grinning._

"_Very good, very good. You clean up nicely. Now, the client is in the other room, but there is some groundwork we need to cover before I send you in there. First, you are to comply with what the client wishes and do it happily. He's paying for a good time, so you will give it to him, even if you aren't necessarily comfortable with what he wants. Secondly, you need to sell it. I don't care what you do, just __**entertain **__him. Act like you want to be there. Finally, there's the matter of birth control. We require all clients to wear protection, but as an extra precaution, there's this." He extended his hand and opened his palm to show her a pill. "Take it. It's birth control. Just in case," he assured her. _

_Ziva looked at it hesitantly. She wasn't necessarily sure she should trust anything he was giving her. He picked up on her skepticism, and laughed. "Just take it, Ziva, you don't want to get knocked up," he urged. Ziva gave in, reaching forward and dry-swallowing the pill before she could change her mind. It wasn't like she really had a __**choice **__in the matter. She had a cover to keep, and that meant playing the part._

"_Good," he praised._

"_I've never done this before," she admitted, "What if I mess up?"_

"_Relax. This guy knows you're a virgin. In fact, he's paying more for it. He doesn't care if you're inexperienced, trust me. Just do your job," he told her, waving his hand in indifference. "Now let's go, he's waiting."_

_Ziva put on her bravest face, her mission echoing in her head. She was doing this to take down a terrorist organization that was threatening her country. She was doing her job, her __**real**__ job, as an operative of the Mossad. She was doing this to make her father proud._

_Somehow, she did not think that her father would be proud to see her right now, her body bared and beautified, ready to strip down naked in front of a man she had never met. _

_Kameel escorted her out of her room, showing her to the one where her client waited. Of the three doors on the other side of the hall, it was in front of the one on the left that he brought her to a standstill._

"_He's in there. Have fun," he said, before walking away and disappearing in the room next to Ziva's without a look behind him._

_Turning to face the door in front of her, Ziva took a deep breath and opened it before she could change her mind._

_The room it revealed was much different from her own. It was much larger, probably thirteen by thirteen feet, and held a large king bed in the center. The entire place was furnished with opulent decorations that gave the place a somewhat warm look. The comforter on the bed was golden and the entire room had a warm glow to it due to the low and well-designed lighting._

_But it was what was __**on**__ the bed that drew Ziva's attention. He was an older man, probably in his early forties, with hair that had already begun to gray. He wore, much to Ziva' surprise, a suit. This man was obviously no street-dwelling bottom-feeder. This organization had clients in high places. She shut the door behind her._

_A smile that Ziva could have __**sworn**__ was almost pedophilic in nature spread across his face upon laying eyes on her._

"_Well, look what we have here," he spoke, his voice lustful._

_Ziva did not know how to respond to that._

"_Come, come a little closer, tateleh," he ordered. Ziva nearly growled in indignation. Tateleh. Hebrew for Little Darling, it was her affectionate pet name for Tali. In that moment, Ziva knew that she would never again be able to call her sister that._

_She complied with the man's wishes, walking slowly and hesitantly to the foot of the bed. She knew that she should be playing along—flaunting her assets, as Mossad would put it. Something stopped her, however, and for a moment Ziva could have sworn it was her dignity._

_Little did she know that dignity was something rarely found in this building._

"_I've been told you're a pure one." His sultry voice made Ziva gulp. "Judging by now nervous you look I'd say I was not lied to. I'm going to enjoy defiling you, tateleh."_

_Ziva stayed silent, all words ripped from her throat. She could not do this. This was wrong._

_The man sat up, leaning his back up against the bedframe. "Strip for me," he ordered, his voice displaying his hunger. She began to swiftly take off the little clothes she was wearing, but stopped her, holding up his hand in protest._

"_Ah, ah, ah," he told her, wagging his finger, "not like that. Give me a __**show**__. Entertain me," he commanded._

"_Yes, sir," Ziva responded, speaking for the first time in a very soft and very timid voice. All of the fire she usually possessed was gone, robbed from her._

_Shame colored her cheeks red as she gave him a strip tease, swaying slightly to inaudible music. After a minute, the top piece of the lingerie came off, and Ziva's torso was left naked and exposed. She tried to ignore how terribly vulnerable she felt._

"_Come closer. Give me a little lap dance while you continue," he urged. Ziva gritted her teeth, shoving aside any thoughts of reserving what little pride and dignity she had left. This man was making her completely and utterly debase herself before him. She had not been expecting this to happen. She had expected a quick, uncomplicated job. She had expected to be able to lay there, grit her teeth, and bear it. Apparently she was expected to do much more._

_She did as he told her, of course, walking to the side of the bed and climbing on top of his extended legs. Ziva could see the little tent that was forming in his trousers. She swallowed the lump in her throat and looked up at him._

_What she found disturbed her. It was obvious that he saw the fear in her eyes, but he was __**turned on **__by it. _

_She was shaking as she continued to entertain him. Finally, she was left naked atop a man whose eyes held nothing but pure, unbounded lust._

"_Undress me," he ordered, not breaking eye contact. Ziva nodded almost obediently and grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket, orchestrating his movements so that it came off of his body. Under that was a button-up collared shirt, and she quickly and nimbly began to undo the buttons. Her movements became fast. At that point all she wanted was to get it over with._

_Soon his chest was bare and she was forced to start on his pants. She swiftly unbuttoned them and slid off of his legs so that she could pull them off around his ankles. He was not wearing anything under them, and she was suddenly sitting naked in a bed with an aroused, also naked man who was twice her age._

_She let out a strangled cry of surprise as suddenly she was tackled onto her back. The tables were turned and instantly she lay below him, his foul breath on her neck, near her ear. When she heard the crinkle of a wrapper, dread filled her soul._

_She knew what was coming, but nothing could have prepared her for what she felt next._

_At first she did not realize that the shriek of pain came from her mouth, all she could think about was suddenly it felt as though she was being torn apart. She was not in the least aroused, which made it all even worse. His eyes met hers and he grinned hungrily._

"_You're so sexy, tateleh," he breathed in her face. She squeezed her eyes shut. "No, don't close those eyes of yours. There's nothing I love more than seeing that look in a virgin's eyes the moment I take her. It's that look of surprise… that makes it worth it. You only ever see that the first time. God," he moaned, pulling out and ramming back in, "you're definitely a virgin, alright."_

_Ziva barely managed to hold back a whimper as the pain erupted anew. Eli had taught her how to resist torture, but it seemed so much easier in theory than it actually was. She just wanted this to stop._

_She inhaled sharply as she felt his right hand come up behind her head and grab a fist of her hair, yanking her head backwards. The pain of that particular action reminded her a bit of when Tali used to try to brush and braid her hair. Her touch had been so gentle and attentive and caring…_

_Pain erupted in her heart once again when she considered the fact that it might be a very long time before anyone ever touches her so innocently and kindly again._

_It was when his left hand came up to play with her breast that her body began to shut down. Her aching and straining muscles went slack and she lay there like a rag doll, letting the man take what he wanted to he could finish and it would be over. She remembered what Kameel had told her to do—play along—but there was not one bone in her body that was willing to even consider doing such a thing. Perhaps this was only bad because it was her first time. Maybe it would get better._

_As she felt him finish, she prayed that that was the case._

_..._

_She closed the door behind her, leaving her standing naked in her room. For a moment she just stood there, unable to get her shell-shocked body to respond, but recovered quickly when she spotted the old faded jeans and t-shirt. They were swiftly pulled onto her quivering body in frantic motions, eager to cover up her body. She felt so vulnerable. The second she was once again clothed, she collapsed on the cot and flicked off the lamp at her bedside. She cocooned herself in the blanket, but no matter what she did, she could not stop shaking._

_In the dark cover of night, she allowed the tears to come. She had not cried in years, not even when Ima died. Abba had trained her better than that. But at that moment, she didn't care about her father's rules. She didn't care, period. She just wanted to fall asleep and never wake up if it meant coming back to this life. Tears poured down her face, first one, then two, then three…_

_The floodgates were opened, and soon tears were pouring down her cheeks, sobs wracking her abused body. She felt dizzy and nauseous and scared and so damn __**alone.**__ She cried herself to sleep, allowing herself to wallow in her pit of self-pity and both emotional and physical agony._

_That night she bled._

…

"Tali?"

"Yeah?" the eleven-year-old responds, her ears perking up upon hearing her older sister call her name. She is lying on the couch reading _Pride and Predjudice, _waiting for the dinner Ziva had just put in the oven to be done. She looks up to find Ziva standing to the right of the couch, a hesitant expression on her face.

"Um… Tali, I…" she trails off, wondering how to phrase her request. She finally settles on short, simple, and to the point. She holds up her brush. "Will you braid my hair?" The smile that spreads across Tali's face makes Ziva's heart flutter.

"Of course," Tali responded, "But I must warn you, it's been a long time, and I was never any good at it in the first place…"

Ziva just smiles gently. "I do not care," she replies, handing the smaller girl the brush and sitting down on the ground in front of her, her back against Tali's shins.

The bristles run through her hair, Tali's gentle touch easing her tense muscles, and Ziva gives a sigh of both contentment and relief.

She is home.

_A/N: So yeah, pretty heavy stuff. Sorry, not sorry. I'm exhausted, this chapter was monstrously long (at least for me). I hope that you enjoyed it, nevertheless. I'm hoping for a lot of feedback on this one._

_My profound thanks to __**pirate-princess1, prince-bishop, dvd123, Angelhaggis, **__and __**Christinou**__ for the awesome reviews! And GIGANTIC ABBY HUGS to __**Cameron-sarah,**__ who helped so much with ideas for this chapter (and ones to come). _


	6. Chapter 6

Tony arrives at the diner that evening much earlier than he did the day before. It's just about seven o'clock, and this time the parking lot is not empty. Granted, there are only about five cars, but a part of him is at least glad that the diner gets _some_ business. For a moment he began to doubt that anyone came here; the only reason he would ever come here is to see Ziva.

He pushes open the door but does not see her upon immediate entry. A few strides take him across the dining area and to the small bar, where he sits upon a stool and folds his hands, waiting patiently.

"Tony!" Ziva exclaims, emerging from the kitchen.

"Hey," he greets, smiling widely.

"Would you like the usual?" she asks, all business. He smirks.

"I have a usual?"

"Would you like what you had _yesterday?"_ she rephrases, shooting him a pointed look.

"Yes, please," he replies, looking a lot like a spoiled child. She just shakes her head and turns her back to him, popping the top off of a beer an pouring it into a glass. She places it in front of him.

"You are here earlier," she observes. He raises his glass to her.

"Caught a killer. Gibbs got us out of there by six, thank god. I just want to sleep," he complains.

"Then why are you here instead?"

Tony frowns. Why _is _he here? The answer is obvious to him, but he can't exactly come right out and tell Ziva that he finds her remarkably alluring and intriguing and he would _gladly _forfeit sleep to be able to sit across from her. A small part of his brain scoffs at that, wondering when he became such a sap.

"I told you I'd be here. I keep my promises," he answers truthfully. Ziva's face softens, and this makes him wonder if it's not because she has way too much experience with men who _don't_ stick to their word.

"I appreciate that. But I do not want you do lose sleep over me," she reprimands him, and Tony can't help but smile a little at that. _Too late,_ he thinks.

He frowns as her attention is pulled away from him by another customer. He liked it better at night, when he had the place to himself. Ziva disappears into the kitchen and emerges with a small plate, a piece of cherry pie sitting on top of it. She places it in front of the other customer, and his mouth waters.

"I'll take one of those, Ziva," he tells her as she passes by to attend to another customer sitting on the other side him. The only indicator that she'd heard him was a nod in his direction.

She brings him his pie a few minutes later, but he is never able to get her attention for longer than a few seconds for the remainder of his time at the diner. Soon his dessert has disappeared from his plate and his beer from his glass. He yawns.

"I think I should head home, Ziva. It was nice to see you," he calls, slapping a few bills down on the table. She looks at him and nods.

"And you." She does not ask if he will be back tomorrow. Either she doesn't care, or she is assuming that he will be, Tony doesn't know. He knows which he would _prefer,_ though.

He exits the diner, breathing in the chilly autumn air as he walks to his car. He is somewhat disappointed that he barely got to talk to her, but if he is honest with himself he will admit that he does not find the night to be a total waste. Although they exchanged all of a few sentences, he _had_ gotten to spend the last half-hour watching her. Not in a creepy way of course, but rather he was _admiring_ her.

The next night, a Friday, passes much the same way, only with even littler interaction. Fridays are apparently the diner's "busy day," as is the case with most restaurants. They exchange mere words that day, but Tony leaves feeling much the same way that he had when he left the night before—perfectly content having simply observed her from afar.

…

_Ziva woke up again that night. She wasn't sure what time it was or how long she had been asleep, but it hadn't felt like too long. All she knew was that the feeling between her legs was gone—numbness filled her body. The sadness she had felt as she cried herself to sleep was gone from her, and in its place she felt nothing but calm. Strange calm enveloped her, and as she lay there she was sure that she did not have a care in the world. _

_It was a long time that she simply laid in bed reveling in this feeling of peace and tranquility. She could have also sworn that she felt almost __**happy.**__ A little voice in the back of her mind yelled at her to snap out of it, this was not right, she should not be feeling happy. Not now. What was wrong with her?_

_Hours passed before she felt the numbness fading. Slowly but surely, dread, shame, and emotional turmoil began to seep their way through the blissful, almost euphoric feeling. As the feeling between her legs returned, she began to feel pain. However, it __**kept**__ returning, and by that she meant that it continued to intensify. Just when she thought that all of her sensitivity was back, it got even worse._

_She instantly wanted to be numb again._

_She began to feel nauseated, the small sandwich she had consumed earlier that morning—or was it yesterday morning?—coming back up. She lurched from the small cot and emptied the meager contents of her stomach into the small trash bin on the other side of the room. A whimper escaped her throat. Moving __**hurt,**__ dammit! She wanted to crawl into her cot and never move again. The thought of going through all she had endured tonight __**again**__ next week made her shiver in dread. She would welcome that numbness again with open arms._

_Her mind was drawn back to that strange state her body had been in moments ago. She was so confused, and she could not help but feel completely out of control. She could not even control her own body. She had no idea what had happened to her body while she slept, but all she could hope for was that, if she fell asleep now, she would wake once again feeling that same way._

_Ignoring the bitter taste in her mouth and the throbbing between her legs, she curled up under the blanket once again and fell asleep. Maybe tomorrow would be better._

…

_When she awoke the next day, she was well-rested but not numb as she had hoped. That blissful feeling had not returned, much to her disappointment, and she was left with the residual pain, both physical and emotional, from last night's encounter with what had to have been a living incarnation of the devil. She tried so hard to forget his eyes, his words, his disgusting smell, but it would not go away. _

_Did that make her weak? Her father sure would say so. She needed to stop dwelling on herself—this was no time to be selfish. She was on a reconnaissance mission. Now that she was on the inside, it was pertinent that she began to find and uncover information to help Mossad take down this terrorist organization. That was, after all, why she was here._

_The nauseous feeling in the pit of her stomach returned with a vengeance, and she again dashed over to the trash bin. This time it was only a dry heave. There was nothing in her stomach for her to regurgitate. This thought only served to remind her of how hungry she was._

_She briefly considered going outside of the room and knocking on the door of the room she had seen Kameel enter last night. She did need food, after all. In the end, however, she decided that she did not want to risk bothering him, so instead she settled back down on the bed with the ratty copy of Moby Dick and lost herself in another world._

_It must have been an hour later when she heard the door open. This time it was Harim who entered. He carried a plate of pita bread and kibi and something to drink. Ziva's mouth watered. _

"_I have brought your food," he told her, stating the blatantly obvious. He sat the water and plate down on the bedside table. Next to it he placed the small white pill. "Take that. It's birth control."_

_Remembering the strange way she had felt for a few hours last night, a lightbulb went off in her head. "Birth control? Are you __**sure**__?" she asked. _

_His response was a snarl. "What, do you think I'm __**stupid?!**__" His eyes were dangerous. Ziva immediately knew that he was the muscle and Kameel was the brains._

"_No!" she replied immediately, putting a terrified look on her face, knowing that that was probably what Ziva Shahar would have done. Ziva David, however, was not scared. She knew that, if it came to that, she could have this man on the floor in seconds. She prayed it would not come to that, though. She had a cover to keep._

"_Didn't think so," he growled, backing out of the room. She heaved a sigh of relief when the door closed, and instantly descended upon her meal. The kibi, although store-bought, tasted like home, and if she closed her eyes she could pretend she was sitting on the couch with Tali watching reruns of old American sitcoms. When it was gone, Ziva was forced back into the present. The white pill caught her eye._

_Should she take it? Was it in fact what caused her to feel that way last night? If it was, Ziva was not entirely certain that it was birth control. It seemed to her more like an addictive street drug than anything else. _

_She took it anyhow, justifying her actions by telling herself that it was an experiment. If it was indeed what made her feel such blissful peace and numbness last night, she would stop taking it. If it wasn't she would continue to take it—she would not want to risk getting pregnant, even if the men did use condoms. _

_There was a part of her that hoped it was what gave her that feeling last night. What she wouldn't give to feel that tranquility again..._

_No. She could not be high on this mission. If it was birth control, she would take it. If it was not, she wouldn't . Simple._

_So why was she so conflicted?_

…

Ziva feels somewhat bad for not making more of an effort to talk to him for the past few days. Surely he understands, though, that she had other customers to attend to? Hopefully he will not think that she is completely shutting him out. Truthfully, she _does_ enjoy talking to him. He makes her feel almost… special.

All the signs point to him being attracted to her, but she knows that there must be another explanation. She cannot see in herself anything that anyone could find attractive, let alone _Tony._ He is a good looking man with a charming personality. He could have anybody he wanted. So why does it seem like he has picked her?

The next night, a Saturday, he does not show up at seven. He does not show up at eight. By nine he has still not come, but she continues to hold onto a childish hope that perhaps he is working late, despite the cynical voice in her head that tells her that he probably just got bored with her.

The door opens at half past nine, and Ziva decides that she really should not doubt him.

"Hey," he greets her, offering his usual bright smile.

"You are here awfully late today," she observes.

He shrugs, taking a seat in his usual bar stool. "The past two times I've come you've been busy with other customers. I figured coming late would solve that," he justifies.

"You came all the way out here at twenty-one thirty… just to talk to me?" she questions, somewhat flattered and disbelieving.

"Well, the beer's good too, but, yeah, pretty much. Is that weird?"

She studies his worried expression. "I am not sure," she answers, "perhaps. But I do not mind."

"Good. Now… hit me."

"Excuse me?" Ziva asks, taken aback. Tony's laugh echoes through the empty dining room.

"I forgot about your idiom troubles. I meant to say hit me up with a beer."

This only serves to confuse her more. "Why would I hit you with beer?"

"Nevermind," he replies, still chuckling, "Guinness, please."

That, Ziva understands. She turns away, grabbing his beer and popping the lid off like she has for the past three nights.

"How did you end up at NCIS?" Ziva asks, initiating conversation for once. She figures that if she asks questions about his past, they can stay away from the touchier subject of her own.

Tony goes on to explain his history as a college basketball player at OSU, then his time as a cop in Peoria, Philadelphia, and Baltimore. He tells her stories of the pranks that they would pull back in the precinct in Maryland, stories that make her want to laugh.

She has not truly laughed in a long time, though, and it is not as easy to let herself be so vulnerable now. Emotions are vulnerability. So she settles for offering instead small smiles. _One step at a time,_ she tells herself.

They talk for what feels like a long time, and before she knows it, it is closing time. She grabs her coat and removes her apron, punching out. Tony offers to walk her to out, and she does not object.

"Where is your car?"

"I take the bus home," Ziva tells him.

"I can drive you to the bus stop," he offers. The conversation gives Ziva a strong sense of déjà-vu. Except this time, her answer is different.

"You do not need to do that," she tells him, but he just shakes his head.

"Come on, Ziva, I insist."

She sighs in resignation, unable to think of a single reason to say no. "Okay," she agrees. His responding smile almost makes it worth it.

They walk in silence to his car and she climbs in the passenger seat. The key is inserted into the ignition and the engine revs to life.

"How about I just take you home, Ziva?" Tony proposes. Ziva is caught off guard.

"That is nice of you to offer, but you are doing enough already. I can take the bus," she assures him.

But Tony is not one to back down. "I'm sure you're tired. You could get home quicker if I drove you," he points out.

"_You_ would certainly not get home quicker," she reminds him, but he just shrugs.

"I don't mind. Really. You don't live far, do you?" He asks. Ziva just shakes her head and tells him her address. He smiles.

"I actually pass right by the street your building is on on the way home," he tells her, "I can promise you it's no inconvenience. Just let me take you home."

Ziva studies his face for a minute. There is no deceit, no ulterior motive that she can find in his eyes. He honestly _wants_ to take her home.

"I suppose… It wouldn't hurt anything," she replies, her voice soft. If Ari knew that she was getting a ride home from this man… Ziva decides right then and there that he would not find out.

Tony grins from ear to ear. "Good."

They ride in silence until they pull up in front of the dumpy apartment complex that Ziva calls home. She is about to get out of the car when Tony stops her.

"Wait."

She stops, her hand freezing on the handle. "Yes?"

"Ziva, I think you're very… compelling. I would love to be able to see you sometime other than at the diner. It's no fun when you have to work," he says, his eyes shining.

Ziva is caught completely off guard. Her mouth hangs open slightly. "Are you… asking me on a date?"

"Is that bad?"

She does not know what to say. "I do not know, Tony. I… I do not think that I am ready for… that kind of relationship. There are too many things going on, and—"

"No, it's okay, I understand. But, maybe we could still be friends? I still want the chance to get to know you," he proposes. For the life of her, Ziva cannot figure out why he would want such a thing.

"Okay," she agrees, almost simply because she has no idea how to turn that down. He is offering her companionship, something that she so desperately lacks—family does not count.

"How about we go to the Smithsonian tomorrow at two? I think you'd really like the American History Museum. Give you a feel for what makes America _America,_ you know? I could show you around DC, too. Like your own personal tour guide," he offers.

Ziva is almost speechless. "I, um… Yes. I would like that… very much."

His responding smile is something that Ziva cannot get over. He looks so _happy,_ just because she agreed to spend an afternoon with him. With the exception of her mother and siblings, she cannot remember a time where her mere presence had the ability to make someone so happy.

"I'll pick you up at fourteen-hundred hours, then," he tells her, "Goodnight, Ziva."

She steps out of the car and closes the door. As he drives away, she watches his taillights fade.

"Goodnight, Tony," she whispers into the dark night.

_A/N: I didn't really like this chapter. I hope it wasn't too unsatisfactory. But you're getting daily updates so you can't complain too much, k?_

_As always, thanks so much to __**Cameron-sarah **__for just being pretty much all around awesome (and leaving an amazing review:) And to __**dvd123, Liraeyn, prince-bishop, pirate-princess1, Christinou, Angelhaggis, Nicole, **__and __**sakura2113— **__Thank you guys so much for the great encouragement and feedback! Love you always! _


	7. Chapter 7

Ziva is startled awake by gentle but urgent hands, the screams from this particular night terror still echoing in her brain. She gasps, her eyes flitting around the dark room before finally landing on the frightened and concerned eyes of her little sister hovering over her.

She exhales sharply. "Tali," she murmurs, the name rolling off her tongue.

"You were dreaming," Tali tells her. Ziva's hand finds hers.

"Yes. I'm sorry if I woke you," she replies, giving the little girl's hand a gentle squeeze, "Go back to sleep." Ziva closes her eyes again, and attempts to roll over onto her left side, facing away from Tali, but a hand grabs her shoulder and pulls her back.

"Do you have nightmares often and I just don't notice?" Tali asks. Ziva can hear the guilt in her sister's voice, and she rolls over onto her right side to face Tali. They share a room and a queen-sized bed, partly because that's all they can afford but also because Tali has missed her sister.

"Sometimes. But you don't need to worry about it. I am fine," Ziva assures her, coaxing the girl to lay her head down on the pillow. Tali complies.

"You sounded really scared," she says, and Ziva freezes. How much of her dream did she outwardly show? "You were whimpering real soft, but you sounded scared."

"I'm not scared anymore. You don't need to worry about me," Ziva promises her, stroking her cheek gently.

Tali just stares at her for a second before speaking. "Who's Lila?" Ziva's breath hitches, startled. She takes a second to compose herself. Of all the things she could have been muttering while she slept! Lila was something she had told absolutely _no one _about, and she is perfectly inclined to keep it that way.

"She was my friend," she answers after a moment of careful consideration.

"Was?"

Ziva curses inwardly at her slip up and Tali's perceptiveness to the small details. "I don't want to talk about her now, Tali."

"Did you meet her on your mission?"

"I _said_ I don't want to talk about it!" Ziva snaps. Tali recoils, pulling her hand away, and shifts, lying on her back now instead of facing Ziva.

"Sorry," she mutters, staring blankly at the ceiling. Ziva sighs, rolling onto her back as well.

"No, I'm sorry. I should not have snapped," she apologizes.

"It's just, you never talk about it. But I can see that it still hurts you," Tali tells her.

"You can?"

"Yeah. It's in your eyes. And plus, on nights like tonight…" Tali trails off, hoping Ziva understands. "Why do you try so hard to hide from us, Zivi?" she asks, using the nickname she used to use for Ziva when she was very young.

"I'm not trying to hide from you," Ziva denies.

"Well, you do. You pretend that you're okay, but I know that you're not. Ari knows that you're not. So why do you keep pretending?"

Ziva just shrugs, even though she knows Tali's not looking at her. "Sometimes it's easier than admitting how broken you are," she murmurs. It's easier to be vulnerable in the dark.

"But then no one can ever help fix you," Tali insists.

Ziva sighs. "Tali, I don't expect you to understand. But that mission… It took a piece of me, something I can never get back. It's better to pretend that it's still there than try futilely to find it again."

"We will love you, even without that piece," the smaller girl promises, "We're your family. We love you either way. You don't need to pretend with us."

"I need to be strong. For the baby," Ziva responds, "I need to bury this."

"You bury everything. Don't you think that one day you'll run out of room?"

Ziva has no answer for that. Tali is an eleven-year-old wise beyond her years, and sometimes Ziva forgets just how much her little innocent sister has endured in her short life span. She's lost her mother, her sister—if only temporarily—, her father as a role model, her home, her friends… She knows a little something about loss.

Tali rolls over onto her left side again, facing Ziva. The latter reciprocates.

"Zivi? I know you don't want to talk about it, but… If you won't tell me who Lila is, will you at least answer this one other question?" Tali asks, her voice saturated with innocent curiosity.

"It depends on the question," Ziva replies, not ready to make her sister any promises.

"What is the part? The part that you said was taken from you, that you don't think you can get back?"

Ziva frowns, studying her sister's curious and loving eyes. "Why do you want to know?"

Tali just shrugs. "Maybe I can help you to find it."

The older girl bites her lip. Tali is still just a child at heart. A sudden wave of protectiveness floats over her, and she reaches over, pulling Tali closer to her in their bed. She wraps her arms around her baby sister, holding her close.

"It is my dignity that they took from me, Tali. But you should not attempt to find it. It would be a waste of time. I would not even know where to begin looking."

…

_It was soon obvious to Ziva that the pill that she took was not birth control. Within an hour of taking it, her pain began to fade and her mind to ease. That same blissful feeling from the night before enveloped her, warm and comforting. She felt content._

_The effects did eventually fade, however, and Ziva was overcome once again with a terrible nauseous feeling that left her hunched over the small waste basket in the corner of the room._

_After the pain had come back and the shame, loneliness, and violation had returned to torment her, she began to ponder the little white pill. She knew that, logically, she could not continue to take it. It was most likely an addictive substance, designed as the tool to keep the girls from leaving. It was no doubt the reason for the two week "acclimation period," as well. It was not so much as getting the girls used to the new lifestyle as it was getting them hooked on whatever drug she was being given. Once they were hooked, they would be moved to new, and most likely less desirable, sleeping quarters. _

_So __**of course**__ she knew that she could not take this drug. Whatever it was, it was not intended for birth control. This mission required Ziva to be on the top of her game, alert, focused, and most definitely not high on some addictive and most likely illegal drug. _

_But what she wouldn't give to get the pain and emotional turmoil to subside just __**one more time.**_

_She hurt so badly in so many different ways. The aching between her legs had not ceased and she could not shake the feeling of worthlessness and shame from what had happened last night. The weak part of her, the __**human**__ part, wanted nothing me than to curl up in her bed and toss back a few of those mind-numbing pills. But of course, the Mossad training told her she could do nothing of the sort._

_This was the first of many times to come that she would consider giving her father and Mossad the middle finger._

…

_A week passed in a blur. Her days consisted of waking up, eating the food delivered to her, sticking the white pill under her pillow, before curling up on the bed with a book and staying there until it was time for bed. She left only to go to the bathroom and hardly talked to anyone. The days went by with her hardly paying them any notice, and before she knew it it had been seven days since her first client._

_He __**had**__ told her once a week. They were nothing if not punctual._

_This time the lingerie he delivered to her with breakfast was white and silky. It was hardly more than a bra and panties. After Kameel left, she tried her hardest to get lost in Huckleberry Finn, but the words floated through her head without forming any sort of meaning. Her mind was preoccupied with the dread of what she knew she would have to do that night._

_Ziva's nerves had finally gotten the best of her, and she decided that she needed to stop pretending this was not going to happen. She walked robotically to the bathroom and cleaned herself up a bit, donned a little bit of make-up, and walked back to the room. Off came the blue T-shirt and filthy jeans and on came the white lingerie. She was glad her room did not come with a mirror— she really did not want to face her reflection that evening. _

_It was a few hours of idle, pointless reading before Kameel entered her room. Her breath hitched and she sat up on the bed, standing up before him. He grinned as he took in her appearance. _

"_Very nice. You look delicious," he told her, and Ziva did her best not to cringe at this. "Now, I know you know this time is going to have to be different. It's not your first time anymore. This guy's not paying for the virgin experience, he's paying for the professional. I know you've hardly done this before, but trust me, as a woman the art of seduction is built into your blood. Follow your instincts, you'll know what to do. But you have to act like you're into it this time, Ziva. If you didn't last time, that's okay, because the guy you were servicing only cared that you were pure. Things are different now. You can't be reserved, you can't act reluctant. We're upping the game here."_

_If that was a pep-talk, Ziva was pretty sure he could learn a few things._

"_What if I don't know what he wants?"_

_Kameel shrugs. "Guess. Or give him a blow job. You can't go wrong with a blow job," he informed her, his disgusting smile spreading across his face. He grabbed Ziva's wrist and pulled her through the door and across the hall, yanking her to a stand-still in front of the same door as last week._

"_Go get 'em, tiger," he smirked, giving her a light tap on the butt before again retreating to his own room._

…

Ziva is somewhat nervous as she steps out into the chilly November air. This nervousness does not necessarily extend from the prospect speaking to Tony—he's always been relatively easy to talk to. No, she's nervous about what today entails. This is a situation that even all her Mossad training has not equipped her to deal with. She was never very good with matters of the heart, and as a result she is not sure how to proceed.

Tony obviously likes her. The fact that he is at least a good seven years older than her is not what phases her—rather it's the fact that he _likes_ her. What draws him to her is, at least according to him, that he finds her "compelling." It's her personality, not simply her sex appeal or even her confidence and kickass abilities (because let's face it, she's hardly sexy or confident or kickass any longer).

She does not remember ever having a man after her because of her personality before, and she has no idea how to respond to that. Ziva has done her best since coming to America to hide herself behind thick emotional barriers. Are they really that translucent?

Tony's car pulls up in front of her apartment building a little past two o'clock. She walks up and opens the door, sliding into the passenger seat and shivering involuntarily.

"Cold, huh?"

"Compared to Israel, yes," she replies, shooting him a pointed look. He just smirks.

"Don't worry. It gets a lot worse," he assures her sarcastically, and she groans in response.

"A _lot_ worse?"

Tony just chuckles. "So are you ready for your personal introduction to Washington, District of Colombia?"

"Is that what D.C. stand for?" she inquires, already intrigued. If there is anything that Ziva loves, it is learning new things. She soaks in new information like a sponge. Suddenly today does not seem so bad.

"Sure is. Named after Christopher Colombus, the guy who discovered this amazing place. How does that rhyme go? Colombus sailed the ocean blue in fourteen-hundred-ninety-two?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Ziva tells him, somewhat amused by his antics.

"Well, first we're going to go to the Smithsonian National Museum of American History. Pretty interesting stuff in there. Have you ever seen Wizard of Oz?"

"No, but I've read the book," Ziva tells him, forcing the thought of just _where _she last read it from her mind.

"Well the ruby slippers worn by Judy Garland in the 1939 movie of _The Wizard of Oz _are at this museum."

"You like movies?" Ziva asks, interested.

"Do I _like_ movies? I've seen every movie under the sun."

"Which is your favorite?"

Tony looks away from the road for a second to shoot her an appalled facial expression. "What kind of question is that? That's like asking me what my favorite flavor of gelato is! Too many to choose!"

"But if you had to choose one?"

Tony just scoffs. "Sorry, no can do. Too many. Next question?"

They slip into a surprisingly comfortable conversation as the car cruises down the beltway. Eventually they arrive at the museum. An hour and a half is spent inside as Tony walks her through and fills her in on anything American he thinks she should know about.

"If you're ever see a guy with _this_ flag," Tony informs her, pointing a red flag with a blue X going across it and white stars evenly spaced out on the blue area, "walk in the other direction."

Ziva leaves the museum feeling surprisingly content. Her thirst for knowledge is being quenched after going thirsty for so long. Plus, knowing more about this new country makes her a little bit more comfortable.

Tony then takes her around to all of the important memorials and sites of the city. When they pass the Pentagon, Tony seems especially forlorn. Ziva notices that a portion of the building is under construction.

"What happened?" Ziva asks, concerned. Tony sighs.

"You mean you didn't hear?" he asks, somewhat confused.

"I have been a little… out of the loop, for the last year or so," she tells him.

Tony runs a hand through his hair, keeping his eyes on the road. "America was attacked," he tells her simply. "Terrorists hijacked four commercial planes on September eleventh. Two hit the world trade center buildings in New York City. Killed about three thousand people, my great uncle included. Another hit that building, the Pentagon, our military's headquarters, you could say. I think it was around 180 people who were killed. Then the fourth went down in a field in Pennsylvania when the passengers fought to take control of the plane back. Forty people were killed. The plane was headed for either the Capitol Building or the White House—no one's sure. If you experienced increased airport security on your way here… that was why."

Ziva is left shocked and wordless. It is just now hitting her how disconnected she was from the world while on that mission. "Which terrorist organization?"

"Signs point to Al-Qaeda. It's not a good situation."

Ziva just shakes her head. "No, it is not. I am sorry about your uncle."

Tony shrugs. "I did not know him that well, but… Thanks."

The somber mood lasts longer than either of them would like, but it dissolves eventually as they continue their tour of DC. He points out the Washington Memorial, the Jefferson Memorial, and they even get out of the car to walk along the Reflecting Pool. It seems like not too long later that Ziva informs him that she must get home if she is to be able to make her six o'clock starting time at the diner. Tony quickly complies and they walk back to his car.

"Thank you for doing this, Tony. I appreciate it," she informs him as he drops her off in front of her building. Tony just smile at her.

"Anytime, Ziva, really. And you have my phone number if you ever need anything, right?" he checks. Ziva nods. "Good. I hope you had a good time."

"I did. I learned a lot," she tells him, and his smile only widens.

"I'm here to help. See you later, Ziva."

That night, Ziva can't help but find the diner lonely without him.

…

_Ziva laid on her cot, naked and emotionally paralyzed. She had not put her clothing back on upon returning. She couldn't move. She didn't __**want**__ to move._

_She had prayed last week that it would get better, but apparently God had more important things to worry about than the desperate pleas of an anguished teenager._

_It had been terrible. The man liked it rough, but also liked it when the __**girl**__ liked what he was doing. He wanted Ziva to want it._

"_Beg me to fuck you senseless, baby." His disgusting voice still echoed through her head, taunting her with his demands that she had ultimately complied to. She was so humiliated. Not only her body had been violated that night. He made her go against her morals and say things she never thought in her wildest dreams she would ever say. Unlike last week, she did not cry as she lay alone and in pain in her bed. Her eyes were dry, and no tears came. _

_Ziva David was simply empty._

A/N: Here it is! I hope that you like it:)

I need opinions. I was originally going to make the baby a girl, but I've been thinking that maybe it would be interesting if Ziva had a boy for a change. Which would you prefer?

Thanks so much to **pirate-princess1, prince-bishop, sakura2113, dvd123, Angelhaggis, Liraeyn, **and **NCIS Ziva DiNozzo **for the reviews! And thanks so much to **Cameron-sarah**, as always, for the splendid review and awesome help with everything. You're truly in a category of your own:)


	8. Chapter 8

There are lights on in the apartment when Ziva enters Monday night, something that she can't help but find odd. Usually she comes home to find the apartment dark and silent, its other two residents having retired to their rooms. Such is not the case today, and she wonders what is different.

"Ziva! Welcome home!" Tali chirps, darting out from the small kitchen and grabbing her sister's wrist.

"Tali, you should be in bed!" Ziva scolds as she is dragged into the kitchen.

"Don't worry, I sanctioned this," Ari assures her.

"Come on, Ari, you know she needs to be in bed by ten to get at least nine hours of sleep — _oh!"_ Her words are caught in her throat as she catches sight of their usually bleak kitchen. Streamers hang unevenly from the cupboard handles, winding their way around the tiny room. A balloon is tethered to the dishwasher handle and a small circular cake is resting on the counter next to Ari. Everything is green, her favorite color, and Ziva is shocked. "What's all this?"

Ari frowns. "Zivaleh, come on. You aren't serious!"

"It's November twelfth!" Tali chimes in, sending Ziva an expectant look.

Ziva's eyes widen in recognition. Now _that_ rings a bell. "My birthday," she mutters to herself.

"How did you forget your own birthday?! It's the best day of the year!" Tali exclaims, adamant. Ziva just shrugs.

"I haven't really… thought about my birthday in a while," Ziva admits. The past two times November 12th came around, Ziva wasn't exactly worried about balloons and presents.

"Well, we got cake," Ari tells her, breaking the somewhat awkward silence.

"You did not have to do that," Ziva tells them, but her shining eyes betray her. They went to all this trouble just to celebrate the anniversary of the day she was brought into the world. Sometimes she forgets how amazing it feels to be treasured.

"Yes we did!" Tali insists. She pulls out a chair from their small table. "Now sit down! It's time for cake!"

Ziva can't stop the smile that spreads across her face. "Is it chocolate?" she asks eagerly.

"No, I got carrot cake," Ari replies sarcastically, "Of course it's chocolate! That's your favorite, isn't it?"

Ziva looks up at her brother, grinning. They remembered her favorite kind of cake. It's such a small thing, but it fills Ziva with a happiness that she can't quite explain. Perhaps it's _because_ of the fact that it's such a small detail. It means more that they remember the little things about her from… _before._ Looking around the kitchen at the green décor, she also reminds herself that they remembered her favorite color, too, something that Ziva herself almost forgot. What could she possibly have done to deserve them?

Tali and Ari sit the cake down in front of her. It has white frosting with the words _Happy 19__th__ Birthday Zivi_ written on the top in elegant green icing. Next to Ziva's name is a beautiful green flower and the entire cake is speckled with candles spaced evenly over it.

"Tali told them just what to write on it," Ari says as Tali sits down to Ziva's left.

"I wanted to get it written in Hebrew, but Ari told me that the baker wouldn't know how. Sorry," Tali tells her older sister, but Ziva just shakes her head.

"It's perfect just the way it is, Tali. Thank you." She places a loving kiss on her sister's cheek. Ari walks over to the drawer next to the sink and pulls out a set of matches.

"Oooh, Ari, can I do it?!" Tali asks, excited.

"Ha! In your dreams, little girl," Ari replies, and Tali pouts.

"I'm not little."

"_Yes you are_," her siblings respond at the same time. Ari lights all nineteen candles before putting out his match and sitting down at Ziva's right.

Their off-key chorus of _Yom Huledet Sameach _echoes throughout the tiny, otherwise silent apartment, and when her siblings finish singing she blows out all nineteen candles, letting Tali help.

"Happy birthday, Ziva," Ari tells her softly, placing a kiss on her forehead. He is only two years older, but he makes her feel like a little child.

"Thank you. I… I really appreciate this. It means a lot to me," Ziva tells them, struggling with her words a little. Such brutal honesty requires words from the heart, and speaking from her heart is something that Ziva has not done frequently in the past few years.

Ari slices into the cake, heaping a gigantic slice onto Ziva's plate. She does not protest, instead takes a fork and shoves a huge bite into her mouth. As the chocolate cake dances on her taste buds, she decides that despite her father's shortcomings and her mother's untimely death, she could not have wished for a better family.

…

_The next week was spent much like the last. She moved from her bed even less, if that was possible, and only got up to use the restroom or exchange books. She ate three meals a day and drank only enough to stay healthy. The pills accumulated under her pillow. In those idle days, Ziva did whatever she could to not think about her situation. The books were a blessing; they took her away from reality. Without them, she probably would have been driven to insanity by her own thoughts._

_Again the week passed far too fast for her liking, and again her breakfast was served with a side of lingerie for the coming night; baby blue this time. While she was completely dreading it, the mission-orientated part of her brain rejoiced. She knew that today marked the end of the two week, so-called "acclimation period." Now she could be put in with the other girls and begin to do her job—gathering information._

_Kameel entered her room at the time that he usually brought dinner, but today he was empty handed. "Come on, get up. You're moving in with the other girls," he said, his voice monotonous and uncaring._

_Ziva stood from the cot and followed Kameel as he left the room. She owned virtually nothing, and this reality hit her as she carried with her only a borrowed, worn book and a skimpy piece of lingerie. Even the clothes on her back belonged to Mossad. The only thing that was actually __**hers **__was the golden necklace still hanging around her neck. The Star of David had not been removed from her neck since she arrived here. It was a small comfort._

_He led her down the hallway and out into the open area with the four doors. To her right was the corridor through which she had originally entered the warehouse. The two doors on her left led to, as she had found out, the food storage and bathrooms. The last door, the one directly in front of her, had remained a mystery. It was this door that Kameel approached, Ziva right on his tail. He opened the door, which to Ziva's mild surprise was unlocked, to reveal a large room. It went all the way up against the outer wall of the warehouse. It took Ziva a second to figure out what she was looking at, but finally it clicked._

_There were a series of small rooms, divided only by curtains. There were six to her left, six to her right, and a long corridor going down the middle. Holding up the curtains was PVC piping, drilled into the ground, creating the frame for the six by six rooms. Ziva was not even sure they could be called rooms. They were more like stalls, but she blatantly refused to address the place she was staying in such a demeaning way. She was not a horse, and neither were the other girls. _

_So room it was._

_Kameel pulled back the curtain of the first room on the right hand side to reveal the tiny living space. It contained the same features as her old room, but was smaller and, thanks to being separated from the next room only by a curtain, much less private. The cot looked less comfortable than the one she had previously slept on, as well, and Ziva was just glad that she did not have issues with her back. The bedside table next to it still had a lamp, but it lacked a lampshade and was basically just a light bulb on a stand. _

_It was definitely a downgrade. Now that the men in charge had the girls hooked on the drug, they could take the living conditions down a step without jeopardizing their business. After all, these girls could theoretically up and leave anytime. There were no guards and the door was not locked. The only thing stopping them was their addiction and their desperation for food and shelter._

"_I'd suggest you get ready quickly. The client will be here any minute. I'll be back for you in five minutes," Kameel told her, before turning on his heel and exiting the large room, the door slamming behind him. _

_Ziva looked down the wide corridor to find several curious heads peeking out from their rooms. She promised herself she would talk to them later—right now she had business to take care of, as undesirable as it is._

…

Ziva makes sure that Tali is in bed by eleven. It is Ari who escorts her back to her room, and when he returns she can see that something has changed.

"What?" she asks, "Is something wrong?"

Ari returns to the kitchen table, plopping down in the chair next to Ziva with a thud. "Where did you go yesterday?"

Ziva just frowns at this question. "What do you mean?" She did not tell anybody about going out with Tony.

"Tali asked me where you were yesterday, because apparently you left her alone for four hours and didn't tell her where you were going! Imagine my surprise when I didn't even know you'd left!" he shoots back at her,

"Ari, just because you're my brother doesn't mean you have to know where I am every second of every day! I'm nineteen years old now! I can take care of myself!" she insists, somewhat angry now.

"Well no offense, but you don't exactly have the best track record at deciding what's best for yourself!" he hisses at her, determined to keep his voice down to keep Tali from returning to investigate.

Ziva is taken aback, her fists clenching. "How _dare you!?_ I made _one_ bad decision!"

"And look what happened because of it!"

"It was not my fault! It was _Abba's_ for sending me on that damn mission in the first place! You know that I had to agree!" she shrieks, furious that he would bring that up.

"We're getting off topic here. _Where were you today?"_ he interrogates.

"I have no obligation to tell you!"

"Fine then! For my _sanity,_ Ziva! I spent two and a half years thinking you were dead! Forgive me if I'm a little protective!"

"A _little?"_

"I just want to know that you are safe!" he yells at her, "Is that too much to ask?!"

Ziva grinds her teeth, a blanket of silence draping over them. She sighs. "I was with a man."

This, needless to say, does nothing to calm Ari's fears. "A _man?!" _he shouts, disbelief written all over his face.

"Yes," she replies calmly, holding her ground.

"On a _date?!_"

Ziva frowns at that. "No. He is just a friend."

"From the diner?"

"No," she answers. She can tell that Ari is getting frustrated.

"I'm not playing Twenty Questions with you, Ziva. Who was it?"

"If you must know, it was Agent DiNozzo," Ziva tells him, a part of her praying that telling Ari Tony's name was not writing the agent's death sentence.

"That guy who was questioning you at the hospital? Are you serious?" he asks, his voice raising an octave or so.

"Is that so hard to believe?"

"Ziva, why wouldn't you tell me? What if he's some crazy person? What if he is a serial killer? You don't know him!"

"And neither do you! Perhaps not everybody in the world is _bad!_ Maybe he genuinely wants to be my friend!" Ziva insists, slamming her fist on the table. "Is that so hard to believe?" she adds, her voice softer, portraying a rare moment of vulnerability.

"Ziva, it's my job to protect you. Please, tell me about this Agent DiNozzo. I need to know," he practically begs her.

She shoots him a glare, reluctantly agreeing. "What do you want to know?"

"Everything," he replies, and Ziva just sighs.

Then she tells him everything.

…

_She had never hurt this badly in her entire life, that much she was sure of. She stood completely naked outside of that cursed room, unable to get her muscles to move. Ziva was on the verge of collapsing._

_The last hour had been pure hell. Just when she thought that this could not get any worse… _

_She finally coaxed her shaky legs into moving, but it was a slow journey back to the large room with the curtains. Places of her body that she did not even know existed felt like they had been torn apart. _

_God have mercy on her soul._

_He had wanted more than Ziva ever imagined herself able to give. The man had wanted her in ways that she had never thought of before; he had taken her in places she did not even know she could be taken. Her lower region was on fire and the taste in her mouth repulsed and disgusted her. Pounding filled her head. She could not see straight, could not concentrate, could not stand any longer…_

_Ziva just barely made it to her room before collapsing. Her legs gave way and she fell on her flimsy cot, a whimper escaping her throat in spite of her efforts to keep silent. Her breathing was ragged and uneven._

_But her eyes were dry; she had no more tears._

_The energy to put on clothing, or even to slip under the blanket, could not be summoned. Her body curled up into the fetal position, wanting nothing more than to disappear. She was pretty sure that if, right now, someone offered her that drug, she would not think twice about taking it._

_In that moment, she realized something. For the past two weeks, she had been able to separate herself from this, at least a little bit. She was not like the other girls here. She was in this place on a mission, for her father. The girl trapped here, the girl that was so incredibly violated and alone and pained, was simply her cover. It was not her._

_That night made her realize that Ziva David and Ziva Shahar were one and the same. It did not matter __**why**__ she was here. She was still going to suffer the same way as the other girls. Ziva Shahar's pain was her pain._

_The soft sound of metal curtain rings sliding against plastic piping broke Ziva's blurry train of thought. There was just enough energy left for her to raise her eyes and see the curtain that separated her room from the next being pulled back to reveal a tentative face of a teenage girl._

_Upon seeing Ziva naked and in agony on the cot, empathy filled the girl's eyes. All reservation gone, she crossed the small room and grabbed the blanket from the foot of Ziva's bed. Not saying a word, she took the blanket and ever so gently placed it on top of Ziva's tortured body, leaning forward to tuck the edges in under her. Then she slowly lowered herself onto the cot. She sat next to Ziva's head, her left hand resting upon the side of it. Ziva let her eyes close at the soft and caring touch, willing it to be the only thing that she felt. Her focus shifted and she attempted to forget about the throbbing and burning between her legs, instead letting herself concentrate on the first kind touch she had felt in weeks. She felt the girl's hand stroking her cheek and running her fingers through her hair, the repetitive motion comforting and soothing. It eventually lulled her to sleep. _


	9. Chapter 9

_Ziva awoke the next morning to find herself neatly tucked under the covers in her cot. It took a second before the events of last night began to come back to her. First the incredible cruelty she suffered at the hands of a client, then the stumbling walk back to her new room, collapsing naked on the bed, and then… _

_Wait. That was not right. Why did she remember kindness? Why did she remember comfort? Why was she under the covers?_

_The face of the girl from last night flashed before her eyes, answering all of her questions instantaneously. She __**needs**__ to thank her._

_Ziva heard the heavy wooden door open, but she did not sit up. The throbbing between her legs from last night had been reduced to an ache, but the pain returned with a vengeance when she moved._

"_Breakfast," announced the almost bored-sounding voice that she recognized as belonging to Kameel. Through a crack in the curtain she could see him wheeling in a cart laden with food. It did not take her long to realize that she was hungry, but the prospect of getting out of bed almost made her groan out loud. No. She could starve for all she cared; she simply did not feel like getting up. Her head dropped back down on the pillow and she let her muscles go slack. Hebrew voices echoed in from outside of her room, just soft enough that their words were incoherent._

_A few minutes later, the sound of her curtain sliding back reached Ziva's ears. She sat straight up in her bed, startled by the sudden sound. The blanket fell away, and she realized suddenly that she was still naked from last night. Blushing madly, she grabbed the quilt and covered up her previously exposed chest._

"_You did not get your food," said the person standing at the entrance to her room. It was not the girl from last night, her neighbor, but rather another one of the numerous girls staying in this place with her. She had long, flowing dark hair that stopped at her elbows and light brown, but hardened eyes that studied Ziva's prone form. She stood fairly tall, taller than Ziva certainly, and was certainly not a teenager; she had to be at least twenty. Concern was written on her bronzed face. _

_Ziva opened her mouth to speak, but found that no words came out. _

"_My name is Esther," she introduced herself, "What is yours?"_

_Ziva cleared her throat, forcing herself to speak up. "Ziva," she replied._

"_You need to eat breakfast, Ziva," Esther told her, "You need to keep up your strength. Why don't you come out and eat with us?" Her voice was gentle and almost motherly. _

"_I… I don't know if that's such a good idea," Ziva declined, shaking her head slightly. Esther sighed, taking a few steps into Ziva's room and sitting on the edge of her bed. She reached out and patted Ziva's feet._

"_Look, I remember how it felt when I first got here. I was scared. We all were. I know that you're hurting and you probably feel like you're alone in this. But you are not," she assured her, sending her a meaningful look. "We've all been there. It hurts a lot right now, emotionally more than anything. But at least let us take loneliness out of the equation, hmm?," Esther insisted._

_Ziva truly did not know how to respond. Kindness and openness from the other girls was the last thing she was expecting. The way that Esther said "we" implied a form of camaraderie between them, something that Ziva had not even considered existing before. _

"_What do you say? You're probably exhausted and in pain but, from personal experience… sometimes it's best to get out of bed. Move around a little. Walk it off," Esther told her. Ziva snorted with empty humor, and the older girl looked apologetic. "Sorry. I shouldn't make light of how you're feeling. Sometimes empathy can be… hard, after so many years of personal pain."_

"_You are a good person, then, too keep trying to be empathetic," Ziva said, her voice soft._

_Esther just shrugged. "I'm the oldest here. Someone has to be the one that we turn to. Now, come on. We're waiting for you." She stood from the foot of Ziva's bed and extended her arm to help Ziva up. Ziva simply shook her head._

"_I'm not dressed," she replied._

"_Please, like it matters to us," Esther scoffed._

"_No, I… Please. I would like privacy," Ziva requested, trying to keep the emotion from her voice._

_Esther nodded, backing out of the room. "Sorry. I understand."_

_After the curtain slid shut, Ziva ran her hands down her face, unsure of what to think. She had not expected the other girls to reach out to her, to accept her as one of them. She expected to have to work to get them to accept her. The burden of this particular task lifted from her shoulders, she felt mildly relieved. _

_Ziva, using every ounce of strength she could muster, managed to pull herself up from the bed and onto her feet. She found that that was the hard part—after she was up it was not so difficult to pull on her borderline filthy jeans and t-shirt. She pulled back the curtain and peeked almost timidly out of the room. In the middle of the aisle that divided the twelve rooms sat a group of girls, food laid out before them, talking softly. The second they spotted her, the talking stopped, and all heads swiveled to see their newcomer. Stepping into the hall now, she gave them a stiff nod. _

"_Shalom," she greeted, her voice still low in volume. Her conversation with Esther before had reminded her of how much she truly missed speaking her native language. The words rolled off of her tongue effortlessly. _

"_Shalom," the girls echoed back. Ziva took a step forward, walking slowly—and painfully—towards them. As she approached their small circle she did a quick head count. Seven girls, but not one of them was the girl that comforted her so kindly last night._

"_I'm, uh…" Ziva trailed off, her father's voice inside her head yelling at her that she was trained for these things, dammit. She needed to use her abilities to befriend them and get the information she needed. "I'm Ziva."_

"_Yes. Esther said as much," said one girl, a blonde with startling blue eyes. "I'm Gavriela."_

_Each of the other girls went on to say their name, introducing themselves to the newcomer. Feeling more welcome now, Ziva eased herself onto the floor between two girls that had introduced themselves as Rebekah and Ariela. She managed to hold back a moan of pain as her incredibly sore body made contact with the cold concrete floor._

"_How old are you?" asked Rebekah._

"_Sixteen," Ziva replied, still somewhat reserved._

"_So young," Esther muttered to herself, shaking her head minutely. Ziva chose to ignore it._

"_If you don't mind me asking," she began, forcing herself to speak up, "is this all of you?" Her mind still lingered on the girl from last night who had been so wonderfully kind to her._

_Gavriela sighed. "No. There is one more—your neighbor, in fact. But does not eat with us, or do anything with us for that matter."_

_Ziva was taken aback and frowned in disapproval. "Did she do something wrong?"_

"_No, you misunderstand. It is her choice. We would welcome her with open arms, but… We do not think that she speaks," Ariela told her, her voice hushed._

"_Is she deaf?" Ziva questioned._

"_I doubt it, she responds to sound. But she does not speak. Whether because she can't or because she simply doesn't want to… We have no clue."_

"_What's her name?" Ziva asked, looking around the small ring of girls. _

"_We don't know. We call her Silent. We were going to name her something less… cliché, but we couldn't agree on a name that fit her, so Silent it is," Gavriela explained._

"_We tried really hard to get her to respond to us, but… It's like she's retreated into her shell. This life takes a toll on everyone, some more than others, and it effects everyone differently. She has chosen to not communicate with us, and we can't change her mind, as hard as we try."_

_Ziva frowned at this. Their description of the girl, or Silent as they called her, contradicted everything Ziva had expected to hear about her. Silent was empathetic, compassionate, and from the emotions Ziva had seen in her eyes the night before, most definitely not a "shell." _

_Ziva picked up a piece of food from the center of the circle, beginning to eat. The rest of the meal, however, she could not stop thinking about the girl from last night._

_She would find a way to get her to open up. After all, they were all in the same boat. _

…

She is not sure whether it surprises her to see Tony at the diner late Tuesday night. It is half past nine when he enters, sitting down on the bar stool upon which he has essentially, in the last week, staked his claim.

"I did not expect to see you," Ziva says as she turns her back to him to pour his beer into a glass.

"I was going to tell you but I realized I didn't actually have your number. I considered looking it up in the database but I figured that's too creepy," he answers, sending her a nonchalant shrug. Ziva frowns as she sets the drink down in front of him. He is obviously, in his rambling, beating-around-the-bush way, asking for her contact information, something that she is mildly uncomfortable with. While he has been nothing but kind to her, she still has only known him for a week. Maybe Ari's paranoia has rubbed off on her, but the more likely explanation is the trust issues that she knows she has. A small, self-righteous voice in her head reminds her that she has a _right to be untrusting, dammit. _Either way she chooses to ignore his prompt.

However, as she runs through his words in her head again, another red flag pops up. "You… have access to my information?" she questions, trying not to look too panicked.

"Yeah, but don't worry, I have clearance for that," he assures her.

"What… kind of information?" The fear that he would look into her past fills her mind. Even though she has only known him for a short period of time, she does not want to lose him. He is, after all, her only friend. What would he think if he sees who she is—who she's related to?

"Do you have something to hide, Miss Regev?" he teases her. The words actually calm her down. Regev. She has an alias now, thanks to the help of an old friend, and if he looked into her past, he would see only… Well, she does not know what he would see, but as long as it is not the truth she does not care.

"No. Just curious."

"It's no big deal. Just the basic stuff. Don't worry, I wouldn't access it without your permission," he promises.

"I believe you," she replies, honest this time.

"So, are you and your siblings doing anything for Thanksgiving?" he questions, taking a sip of his beer.

Ziva frowns, confused. "Thanksgiving?"

Tony chuckles to himself. "Right, sometimes I forget that it's only an American holiday. Well basically it's a holiday where families and friends get together and eat a buttload of food. Turkey, stuffing, corn, mash potatoes, _lots_ of gravy, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pie…" Tony trails off.

Ziva smirks. "Your mouth is watering," she teases him.

"Well if you'd ever tasted the food yours would be too!" he protests.

"What day is this _Thanksgiving?_"

"Next Thursday, the 22nd, I think. It's always on a Thursday for some reason," he replies, shrugging.

"That is my sister's birthday," Ziva answers, "So no turkey for us."

"Your sister doesn't like Turkey?"

"No, but Tali is usually very particular about her birthday meals. Plus, it's an American custom."

Tony looks appalled. "But you live here now! And it's _Thanksgiving."_

"I work from six to ten, Tony, plus I don't exactly have time to do that kind of thing. I have not cooked in… a long time."

"Don't be silly, Ziva, no restaurants are open on Thanksgiving. Look, if you don't want to cook, why don't you bring your family over to my place? Abby cooks this amazing jello, the recipe's been in her family for generations," he invites, his face hopeful. Ziva shoots him a skeptical look.

"Abby? The goth scientist from NCIS?" she asks, confused. Abby had been the one Ziva had given her clothing to the day after the shooting; there had been some kind of test that she had to run on them.

"That's the one."

"You celebrate holidays with your co-workers?"

"Sure. McGee will be there, too. I don't think you met him, but he's my geeky Probie of a partner. And Ducky, our medical examiner, will be there, too," Tony explains.

"What about your family?" she asks, and the words are out before she can stop them. She can't help but feel guilty at the look that briefly crosses Tony's face.

"They're… out of town. I've gotten pretty close with my co-workers recently, and none of them have family to spend the holiday with, so I figured why not?" Tony explains, shrugging a little. "So what do you say? The more the merrier!"

Ziva sighs. She does not want to disappoint him, but even if she really wants to go to Tony's house for dinner, there are many obstacles. Tali's birthday for one, and she also is not quite ready to introduce her brother to her new friend, more for Tony's sake than her own.

"It sounds nice, and I thank you for your invitation, but… It's my sister's birthday. Sorry," she replies. It is evident from Tony's face that he is trying his hardest not to appear overly disappointed.

"Hey, no problem."

_A/N: In case you haven't noticed, I'm pretty much butchering canon here. I included McGee because without him I feel like the team dynamic is off and for some reason I just can't write when that happens. Also, pretend that Tony's completely cool with people seeing his apartment and it doesn't take 12 years and Ziva's father dying to get him have anyone from his team over, okay?_

_Thanks so much to __**prince-bishop, NCIS Ziva DiNozzo, dvd123, Angelhaggis, **__and __**pirate-princess1 **__for the awesome reviews! And as always thanks to __**Cameron-sarah**__ for the amazing help._


	10. Chapter 10

Ziva slips into bed that night, exhausted. Tony, for the second time, had driven her home from the diner, something that she has decided that she really appreciates. The bus ride is lengthy and public transportation, especially at night, is something that Ziva has never been fond of.

The bed welcomes her weary body and the pillow cradles her head. For a second she stops to thank God for what he has given her—just a month ago she was sleeping on a thin, tiny cot that made her back ache.

"How was work?" Tali asks, cuddling up against her older sister. It was a chilly November night, and the sisters welcomed the warm proximity.

"You should be asleep," Ziva scolds.

"Usually I am, but you're home earlier than usual," Tali explains. The corner of Ziva's mouth curls up a little at her sister's inherent observation skills. She opens her mouth to lie about why she was back a half-hour earlier, but remembering the pact that she had made her little sister the day she returned from the dead, she gave a small sigh. She vowed never to withhold the truth from Tali like her father had done with her, and she cannot break that promise.

"I caught a ride home with a friend," Ziva explains.

"Look Ziva, don't take this the wrong way, but… Since when do you have _friends?_"

Ziva smirks, somewhat amused. Yes, the prospect baffles her, too. She has not had a friend since Lila left her, and even Lila was her first friend in a long time. Her training had occupied much of her time. A social life definitely was not something that Ziva typically possesses.

"It has been a while," she admits, "But… you cannot expect me to be lonely forever, can you?" This last phrase is spoken with a touch of sadness and longing that clearly displays how lonesome Ziva has been.

"You have us," Tali insists, almost sounding somewhat hurt. Ziva instantly feels guilty and rolls over, flicking on the lamp at their bedside. The room is filled with a soft yellow glow and she looks down at her little sister.

"I know, Tali, but… Sometimes I need friends… closer to my own age," she says, but inwardly frowns at this. Ironically enough, Tali and Ziva have a seven year age difference, while Ziva is almost certain that the age difference between her and Tony is the same or even a year more in the opposite direction. But she knows the difference lies in maturity—while Tony can act like a teenager or a child at times, he hides depth and sophistication behind his clown mask. Tali is certainly mature for her, but there are some things that only come with age and experience.

"Is this the person you were out with on Sunday?" Tali questions, apt as always.

"Yes."

"Can I meet him?" Tali inquires, eagerness filling her voice.

Ziva frowns in suspicion, "How did you know it is a _he?_" Tali's responding grin is sheepish.

"I might have heard you and Ari arguing last night," she admits. Ziva shakes her head.

"You don't need to worry about me, Tali. I know Ari made it seem like it was a bad thing, but I promise you—"

"I believe you, I'm sure he's a good guy. If you trust him, then I do, too. Plus, you do need friends in your life," Tali says, shooting her a sincere look.

"Thank you. But… _Trust_ seems like a pretty strong word," Ziva admits.

"Oh, come on, Ziva. I know you have a hard time trusting people, and after what you've gone through it makes sense, but you let this… guy—"

"—Tony," Ziva supplies.

"Yes, you let this _Tony_ drive you home. You let him take you out all afternoon. If anything, the fact that you have trust issues prove that you _do_ trust him. You wouldn't let just anybody do that," Tali points out.

"I suppose that is true," Ziva shrugs.

"So what is it about him, hmm?"

"What do you mean?"

"Why him? Why are you able to trust _him?_" Tali interrogates, her face painted with interest.

Ziva frowns, looking at her little sister. "I do not know," she reveals.

"Ziva, come on."

"I really do not know. Maybe… well, he is kind. He seems… to like me. And sometimes…" Ziva trails off, unsure of how to proceed, "…Sometimes he even makes me smile."

Ziva can tell from the look in her sister's eyes that she understands the significance of such a thing. "Anyone who can make you smile is okay by me," Tali tells her, nestling her head in the crook of Ziva's neck. There is silence for a second, before…

"So is this Tony… cute?"

Ziva laughs out loud at her preteen sister's question. "I do find him to be… attractive, yes," she affirms. Tali's face is directed away from her, but can almost _hear_ her smile in her next words.

"Do you _like_ him?" the younger girl presses. Ziva knows by the inflection she puts on the word _like_ that she is not referring to a simply amiable kind of preference.

"I don't know, Tali. And even if I did… We have only just gotten here. We need to settle in. And I am _pregnant_ for God's sake! Plus, after the last few years, I don't know if I could… handle, that," she admits, sadness creeping into her voice.

Tali just nestles further into her sister. "You shouldn't give up on love because of what those disgusting men did," she advises. Ziva just sighs. There are some things that Tali cannot understand, and that she doesn't _want_ her to understand. Those _disgusting men_ hurt her, yes, but she played along with the whole thing. It was her choice to stay there, and many times she not only _let_ them take her, but she often assisted. This left her feeling dirty and broken and revoltingly impure.

"Perhaps I just need time," Ziva offers, not wanting her sister to give up on hope for her as she had already done.

"Do I get to meet him?"

"Hmm?"

"When can I meet Tony?"

Ziva squeezed Tali gently, playfully. "You are not only asking because I told you he is cute, are you?"

"Of course not! I want to meet the man who managed to do the virtually impossible and find a way into your life," Tali insists.

"'Virtually impossible?'" she questions, eyebrows rising.

"Well, you've shut pretty much everyone out except me and sort of Ari. So I want to know how he did it—and why," Tali explains.

"You do not think that perhaps he simply likes _me_?"

"You've _hidden_ 'you,' Ziva," she points out, and Ziva nearly begins to deny this before realizing that it is true. She _has_ hidden herself, but it is for the best. She would rather be lonely than susceptible to such immense hurt again. She has already dealt with enough heartbreak in her life. Even if the people that she lets in do not directly hurt her, she will inevitably lose them, whether it is under their control or not. She cannot get attached. That last thing she needs, especially right now, is another Lila.

"I don't know, Tali," she reveals, being perfectly truthful, "I don't know why he's stuck around. All I've done is push him away." In her heart, though, she knows that this is not fully true. She has welcomed him as much as she knows how, but even then it still feels as though she is unintentionally shutting him out.

"Maybe it's time that you stopped pushing and just let what happens… happen," Tali suggests. Ziva's mind drifts back to her conversation with Tony that night. Eager to change the subject, she picks an acceptable and seemingly harmless topic of conversation.

"Have you heard about Thanksgiving?"

Tali looks up at Ziva, pulling away from her chest. "Yeah. I meant to mention that. There's no school next Wednesday, Thursday, or Friday because of it. Everyone I know has plans, and the people I sit with at lunch asked me today what _my_ plans are. Oh, Ziva, it sounds like so much fun!"

"Really?"

"Of course! I love turkey!"

Ziva frowns. "Since when?"

"Since… I don't know, but I _think_ I like it! Plus, pumpkin pie? Who knew that you could make a pie out of pumpkins?" Tali's voice and shining eyes clearly portray her excitement.

"But it's your birthday," Ziva reminds her.

Tali just smiles brightly. "I know, which makes it even better! I usually get to pick what I want for dinner on my birthday, right? So this year I want Thanksgiving! And we can sit around and say what we're most thankful for—which is that each other and that we're all safe and together—and celebrate like the Americans do! See, you _have_ to do what I say! For my birthday dinner I want Thanksgiving food. And pumpkin pie instead of cake," Tali explains. Ziva just stares at her.

"You really want to celebrate Thanksgiving?" she asks, seeking confirmation.

"Well we're in America now, aren't we? As much as I miss and love Israel, I know that this is our home now. What's that saying about the Romans?"

"When in Rome…" Ziva prompts, smiling softly.

"…Do as the Romans do. Exactly. So what do you say?" Tali questions, her smile radiant and Ziva can't help but think that she is much too energetic for ten thirty at night.

"I might have an idea," Ziva admits. "Tony invited us to his house to have Thanksgiving with him and his friends."

"And you didn't say yes?!"

"It is your birthday! I did not think you would approve so wholeheartedly. And… I only just met Tony a week ago, and I don't know these friends of his, although the one I have met seems nice—I have a feeling the two of you would get along."

"So tell him yes!" Tali exclaims.

"But Ari—"

"—Can suck it up. And if he hates the idea _that much_ then he doesn't have to come," Tali proposes.

"It is not Ari I am worried about," Ziva admits, shooting Tali a worried glance.

Tali smirks. "He's not going to kill Tony, Ziva," she says, rolling her eyes slightly. "Just call him. Tell him you changed your mind."

"I'm not going to call him!"

"Why not?" Tali challenges.

"Because it's late!"

"He just drove you home, I'm sure he's awake, just call him," she urges, putting her hands on Ziva's forearm and shaking it eagerly. Ziva pulls it away.

"Alright, alright!" she cries, grabbing her phone from the bedside table and finding Tony's number in her recent calls from a week ago. It rings for a minute before she it stops and she hears his voice.

"_DiNozzo speaking,"_ he greets almost cheerfully.

"What has you in such a good mood?" she asks.

"_Ziva!"_ She can almost hear the smile in his voice. "_I wasn't expecting you to call. What's up? I didn't drop you off at the wrong complex did I?"_

"No, I am home. But… I have talked to my sister and she mentioned that she wants to have Thanksgiving dinner for her birthday. Does your offer still stand?" she asks, her voice hopeful.

"_Of course! The more the merrier! I'd love to have your family over. Abby will be grateful for another girl, too. We can even get a cake for your sister, if she wants,_" replies enthusiastically.

"She said that she just wants pumpkin pie," Ziva answers, her mouth curling up into a tiny smile at Tali's huge expectant grin as the latter listens to the conversation.

"_Well then we can stick some candles in the pumpkin pie,_" Tony compromises.

"Are you sure that your colleagues are okay with us coming?" Ziva checks, not wanting to impose or intrude.

"_I don't see why they wouldn't be. I'm sure they will love you, and your family."_

"I must warn you. My brother is… protective. You might get… what is the expression? Cooked? Ari might cook you for information before he allows you to be my friend," Ziva foretells.

"_I think you mean grilled,_" he chuckles in reply, "_but don't worry. Interrogating people is part of my job description. I think I can handle your brother's questions."_

Ziva wonders if he would say the same thing if he knew that Ari was trained by Mossad.

"Thank you for inviting us. Tali really appreciates it," she says, but she knows that Tony can hear what she's really saying: _I appreciate it_.

"_Well tell your sister it's no problem. See you tomorrow?"_

"Yes. Goodnight, Tony."

After she hangs up, she notices that Tali is still grinning.

"What are you smiling about?" Ziva inquires, a smile stretching across her face as well. Tali's happiness is almost always contagious. The younger girl lies back down in Ziva's arms, her head once again resting on her shoulder.

"Well for one, I am going to have an awesome birthday. But mostly… I'm just glad that you have someone, Ziva," Tali professes, snuggling close.

"I am too," Ziva responds, burying her face in her sister's hair and placing a soft kiss atop her head.

Then, like most nights, she fell asleep with the steady beating of her sister's heart pulsating gently against her side.

…

_Much to her severe disappointment, she had been unable to talk to her neighbor that day. She had spent most of the day with the other girls, gathering information for the mission's sake, but she planned to speak with her that night. Apparently, Kameel had other plans for what the girl would be doing that night—or rather __**who**__ she would be doing. _

_Ziva had at first planned to wait up for her, of course, but something told her that after a job it was unlikely that __**anyone**__ would want to talk. So she had settled for approaching her tomorrow, however begrudgingly. Somewhat satisfied with her compromise, she lay back in the bed and welcomed the warm blanket of sleep._

_The sleep did not last. She was not sure what woke her—perhaps it was the discomfort she still felt every time she shifted positions, or maybe it was an undesirable dream that she simply could not remember. All of the lights were out in the place that Ziva had discovered was dubbed the "Curtain Complex" by the other girls, and in the dark cover of night she was able to pretend that she was somewhere—anywhere—else. Perhaps she was at home, relaxing in her warm and fluffy bed, Tali's warm body nestled in the crook of her arms. Perhaps she was at her uncle's house in Hiafa, the warm summer breeze blowing in through the windows. Maybe she was even at Aunt Nettie's apartment back in Tel Aviv, fattened from their hardy Shabbat dinner and ready to spend the weekend with her favorite aunt. Either way, she was sure to imagine herself away from this stuffy warehouse where the last of her innocence was stolen from her. She imagined herself happy, whole, and with her family. A small smile graced her face. Tali's vivid imagination must have rubbed off on her, and at the moment she was nothing but grateful._

_She heard a soft creak from the other side of the curtain. If one was to face the curtain that opened up to the hallway, the bed would be against the curtain to their left and the bedside table directly behind them, against the plywood divider. Nothing was against the right curtain, behind which she could hear the noises. _

_At first she ignored it. Her neighbor was no doubt just moving in her sleep, and she shrugged it off. But she kept hearing the noise of the metal bedframe creaking, and she couldn't help but wonder if the girl was in some sort of distress. She sat up, ignoring the aches and pains, and walked the four feet over to the curtain opposite her bed. Standing closer now, more sounds were audible. She could hear the girl's slightly ragged breathing, accompanied by a symphony of soft metal creaks as she no doubt tossed and turned._

_If she was having a nightmare, the least Ziva could do was rescue her from it, after all she had done. She slowly and gingerly pulled back the ugly grey curtain from where it met the back plywood wall, taking a peek inside the adjacent room. It was the exact same set up as her own, and right now she stood directly above the bed on which her neighbor slept. Looking down, she saw that her face was contorted in imagined pain, which had no doubt been very real to her a few hours ago. Her dark, thick hair was strewn about her pillow in all directions and her mouth was moving ever so slightly. When she leaned forward, Ziva was able to hear, through the labored breathing, that she was in fact __**murmuring**__ something, however softly. If she had not been crouched right next to her, she would never have been able to even tell that she was saying anything. Relieved that the girl was at least __**capable**__ of talking, she leaned in closer, trying to discern what she was muttering._

"_No, please, no." The words were spoken in hushed and nearly inaudible Arabic as the nightmare-stricken girl pleaded with invisible men. Her silence suddenly made every bit of sense to Ziva. Knowing that she had to get her out of the hell her mind had created for her, she sat down on the bed at the girl's side and took her shoulders in her hands._

"_Shh, it is okay. Wake up. No one is hurting you, you are okay," Ziva told her, the Arabic words flowing effortlessly thanks to her father's insistence that she spend at least one hour each night practicing her foreign languages. At the time it had been a burden and an inconvenience, but now she was nothing but grateful. She lightly shook the girl's shoulders, trying to rouse her from her prison in her own mind. _

_The girl's eyes fluttered open and as her eyes focused on Ziva looking down on her, she inhaled sharply in surprise. Ziva withdrew her hands from the girl's torso._

"Marhaba_," she greeted, her voice gentle as she attempted to calm the obviously confused and disheveled girl. _

_If the girl's eyes were wide before, now they were popping out of her skull. They filled with an emotion that Ziva was certain was a mix between surprise and extreme relief and gratitude. "_Marhaba,"_ she replied, her voice soft and almost stunned._

"_I am sorry to wake you. You were dreaming."_

"_Do not apologize," she replied, staring at Ziva as though in a trance._

"_You look like you have seen a _shabah_," Ziva told her, smiling gently. The girl just sat up, leaning her back up against the plywood behind her and shaking her head._

"_It's not a ghost I see. It's a miracle," she replied, her voice still hushed and disbelieving. _

"_A miracle?"_

"Eh_. I have not spoken to anyone but those disgusting men in months," the girl told Ziva, giving her a shaky but relieved smile._

"_You speak no Hebrew?"_

"_No. And the other girls speak no Arabic, it's obvious by the way they respond when Kameel speaks it," she replied._

"_What is your name? The other girls call you Silent, but I do not think it fits," Ziva asked, studying the girl who sat before her._

"_Lila… and yours?"_

"_I am Ziva. I want to thank you for last night. What you did… It was more of a comfort than you know. So _shukran_," she said, professing her profuse gratitude. Last night had seen Ziva at the lowest of low points, violated in ways she had not even imagined, in pain and grieving for having lost what little dignity she still had left. But Lila, having heard her pain, came in, covered her with a blanket and stroked her hair, the gesture comforting her until she was able to finally fall asleep._

"_You were—are—in pain. I remember… those first days. I recognized that look in your eyes," Lila explained, patting her hand._

"_The look?"_

"_Yes. I remember what it felt like, trying to fall asleep after those first few times… All I wanted was for someone to hold me, tell me it would be alright. When I saw you in that pain… I had to do something," Lila told her, giving the younger girl's hand a gentle squeeze._

"_Thank you," Ziva expressed, each word dripping with emotion and sincerity. _

"Afwan_," Lila replied. _You're welcome_. Ziva wasn't sure if she was just imagining it, but the way that Lila said the word… It was as though she was really saying _anytime.

"_You know, the other girls think you are a mute," Ziva informed, shooting Lila a somewhat questioning look._

"_I have never spoken to them."_

"_Forgive me for asking, but… Why not? Why let them think you don't speak?" Ziva asked, frowning slightly._

_Lila just sighs and pats Ziva's knee gently. "I've seen a lot in my eighteen years, Ziva, and I know enough to know that not all Israelis would be open to the idea of living so near a Palestinian," she explained._

"_Kameel and Harim are Palestinian," Ziva pointed out._

"_You just proved my point. For obvious reasons, they __**hate**__ Kameel and Harim… as do I."_

"_That does not necessarily mean they will write you off," Ziva insisted._

"_Sometimes it is easier for them to think I am mute. That way they leave me alone. I cannot understand a word that they say, so I have no reason to be around them. You have no idea how relieving it is to hear someone __**besides **__those disgusting pimps speak to me," Lila tried to explain._

"_If you hate it here so much, why do you not leave?" Ziva asked. Although she was almost certain that she knew the answer, she wanted to hear it from Lila herself._

"_For many reasons. For starters, I have nowhere to go."_

"_Your parents?" Ziva inquired, hoping she was not crossing a line._

"_I ran away."_

"_What makes you think they do not want you back?" Ziva asked._

_Lila scoffed. "Please. They did not like me in the first place. There is no way they would want me back now; their opium-addicted, whore of a daughter." Ziva growled in indigation._

"_You are __**not**__ a whore," she insisted._

"_No, I am. I am selling my body for food and shelter and drugs. I am a prostitute—a whore," Lila insisted. _

_Ziva was a silent. _

"_You should get out of here while you still can, Ziva. Once you are in you cannot leave. Do not get caught up in this. You are so young, trust me when I tell you that this is not the life you want," Lila practically begged, pleading with her to save herself while it was not too late._

"_I cannot do that," Ziva replied, shaking her head sadly. Lila gave her a sad but empathetic look, thinking that the reasons why Ziva had to stay were similar if not identical to her own._

_In reality, Lila had no clue._

A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Updates are slowing a little now. If you're new to the story, welcome! Always room for more:)

You people seem to be pretty evenly divided on the baby gender. Just so you know, I've decided. I half of you will be disappointed either way, and I apologize for that, but I'm going with my gut on this one. Please don't hate me:) I promise I'll make it good either way.

Thank you so much tomy awesome reviewers, **Cameron-sarah**, **Liraeyn, dvd123, bex19, prince-bishop, pirate-princess1, **and **Angelhaggis!** Here's a virtual Abby hug


	11. Chapter 11

A week has passed, and Tali's excitement seems to vary directly as the days that pass. As of yesterday afternoon, school is off for the rest of the week as well as the coming Monday, something which Ziva is grateful for. She only gets to spend so much time with her little sister, given that she works every day from six until ten, and she greatly looks forward to spending the next six days together.

The ten o'clock light streams in through their bedroom window and across the sleeping face of Tali. Her face is so peaceful, so innocent, so void of sadness, and Ziva's heart fills with a warmness that she knows must be love. This little girl is her light.

She soon realizes that the warmth in her heart is not the only thing she feels blossoming. An uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach begins to make itself known, and she only just barely makes it to the toilet in time.

The soft pitter patter of Tali's footsteps soon become audible over the sound of her heaving and she feels a warm, soothing hand on her back. These hands gather her wild, curly hair and hold the strands away from her face. A part of her is reminded of those times she had emptied her stomach back in Be'er Sheva, alone and drugged and scared, and suddenly her sister's loving gesture means just that much more.

She's not alone anymore.

"Your baby is giving you a hard time, Zivaleh," Tali says as the heaves finally stop, the toilet flushes, Ziva wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. Tali continues to hold her hair as Ziva gets up bends over the rusty bathroom sink and rinses out her mouth, trying to get rid of the abhorrent taste. Finally she stands rectified, a scowl on her face. Her hands lower down to her stomach and she unconsciously cradles her still-flat stomach.

"I hate throwing up," she moans. Tali gives her an empathetic look and pats her hand.

"I think you should get used to it," she advises.

"Thanks for the pep talk," Ziva grumbles, irritable. She walks out of the bathroom and into the kitchen.

"Love you too!" Tali calls, before retreating to her room to throw on jeans and a t-shirt. When she emerges, she finds her older sister sitting on the couch, reading a book. Tali plops down beside her on the couch without saying a word.

"I'm sorry for snapping. You did not do anything," Ziva apologizes after a few moments of silence.

Tali just shrugs. "It's okay. I'm not angry."

Ziva does not reply to this, instead she simply lets the silence engulf them. She pretends to go back to reading, but the words on the page do not register with her brain. She can almost _hear_ Tali thinking, her brain whirring as she ponders her older sister's pregnancy. In fact, Ziva was almost certain that Tali was contemplating the pregnancy that words that come next catch her off guard.

"You don't call me _tateleh_ anymore," Tali observes, looking up at her sister. Ziva inhales sharply.

"I don't?" she asks, playing dumb. She does not want to have this conversation.

"No," Tali insists, "You don't. Care to tell me why?"

Ziva sighs, studying her face. "It is not important," she promises.

"You are lying. Of course it's important!" Ziva slams the book shut.

"It's not something that concerns you," she insists.

"That's not true and you know it."

Ziva is silent.

"Come on, Ziva! You don't have to hide from me! You used to call me _tateleh_ all the time. Now you haven't said it once."

"Tali, please…"

"Why won't you say it? While you were gone, the only thing that kept me going was knowing that you wouldn't want me to give up. That I was your _tateleh_ and even though you were dead you would want me to be happy. When I missed your voice, I would try to imagine you lying with me and whispering _ani ohevet otach, tateleh,_ in my ear—"

"Stop."

"—because that was what I remembered you by. What has changed, Ziva? Do you no longer feel that way? Why am I not your _tateleh_ anymore?!" Tali's eyes are wild and pained, and Ziva knows that she is blowing off at least a month's worth of bottled up steam and insecurity.

Ziva leans forward and grasps Tali's shoulders firmly. "Tali. Please stop saying that word. I love you, you know I do, and I always will. It doesn't matter what I call you!"

"It matters to me," Tali answers, her voice small. "I have always been your _tateleh,_ but apparently not anymore."

"You will always be the most precious thing in my life," Ziva promises, looking deep into her sister's tearful eyes, "whether I call you… that… or not."

Talis brows stitch together. "Then tell me what's changed. Is it something I did?"

Ziva shakes her head vehemently. "No, I promise, you had nothing to do with this," she assures her. "Remember when I told you about the mission I was on?"

"Yes. Abba sent you undercover in a terrorist organization, to get information."

"And you remember what I told you about my cover? What I had to do… to stay there?" Ziva prompts, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Tali's face is filled with sadness. "Yes," she replies, her voice soft. Ziva takes a deep breath, looking into her sister's eyes intensely.

"The men were not nice to me, Tali," she discloses, the words barely leaving her lips.

"I know. You had bruises," Tali replies, remembering when Ziva had first come back from the dead and how, when she changed, the black and blue splotches had become visible.

"The first man… to hurt me…" Ziva begins, her voice halted with emotion and caution. How does she explain this to a little girl who is only almost twelve? "He was very cruel. He hurt me… very, very badly. And he called me…" She trails off, unable to say the word. She does not want to remember.

"_Tateleh_," Tali finishes, nodding in understanding, "He called you _tateleh._" A tear slides down her cheek.

Ziva nods wordlessly, trying so very hard to keep tears from her eyes. Tali does not need her to cry, too. Her little sister needs her to be strong.

"I hate them," Tali says matter-of-factly. Ziva takes her hand.

"I do, too," she manages to say, but every word puts her closer to breaking down. The mixture of hormones and terrible memories is not good for her façade. She has not cried since that first night, and she plans to keep it that way.

Tali leans in and wraps her arms around her older sister's shoulders in a comforting embrace. Her small hands trace gentle patterns on Ziva's back subconsciously.

"Don't let them hurt you anymore, Zivi," Tali begs, murmuring in her ear.

As Ziva clenches her teeth to keep the tears from her eyes, she wishes it was that simple.

…

"Happy birthday!" Ziva exclaims as Tali enters the kitchen the next morning, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. A great big smile has made its home on her face. She spots the pancakes on the table, still hot, and the smile only widens.

"Thank you!" she cries, running up to Ziva and embracing her merrily.

"Happy Thanksgiving, too," Ziva adds, placing a kiss on her sister's cheek.

Tali and Ziva enjoy the meal of pancakes (in Tali's case, Ziva has to remind her multiple times that she's supposed to have a little syrup on her pancakes not a little pancakes on her syrup). Ziva's cooking is something that Tali always loves. Anything she makes tastes like home in a way that take-out never can.

Their talk is lighthearted and joyous. Tali is absolutely elated and brimming with excitement. Ziva wonders idly if giving her sugar was really such a good idea. After they finish eating and the dishes are done—their dishwasher, like many things in this apartment, does not work, so they are done all by hand—Ziva goes to their room to change. However, upon getting there, she feels the pancakes coming back up in a mad rush.

Morning sickness is just a particular torture that gets on her last nerve already, even though this is only the second day of many to come. Support is always available in the form of her little sister, of course, but this does little to console her. After the morning sickness has passed and Tali has returned to the living room, Ziva washes her mouth and exits the bathroom to find something to wear.

She hates how hormonal she has been in the past few days. She feels guilty at how she reacts sometimes. Her anger ends up directed at poor, undeserving Tali frequently and, more than a few times, inanimate objects as well.

Right now, the urge to scream at her closet is almost irresistible.

"_Dammit,_" she curses, throwing yet another article of clothing down on the floor. The prospect of clothing was something that had not really crossed Ziva's mind, but now she can't understand how she had overlooked it. She packed nothing from Israel but a few pairs of cargo pants and some form-fitting tops. Now, staring at her meager wardrobe, she knows that none of this will do.

She sinks to the ground, frustration coursing through her veins, and she lets out a low growl.

"Ziva?"

Tali enters the room and stops short when she spies her practically-naked older sister sitting on the ground of their bedroom, clothes strewn about her.

"You okay?" she asks cautiously, knowing that Ziva was not to be trifled with. She sits down on the floor across from her.

"I have nothing to wear, Tali, _nothing!_" Ziva exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air.

"I'm not going to argue with that," Tali replies, knowing it's the truth.

"I can't show up at a nice dinner wearing _cargo pants!_"

"Then we'll go shopping." Ziva frowns at this, and Tali sighs. "Yes. I know how you feel about that."

"Money is tight. We cannot afford for me to be spending money on clothes," Ziva replies, shaking her head.

"Well you're going to need to at some point. Babies tend to, you know,_ make you bigger._"

Ziva's eyes widen and she sits up straight, panicking. "Oh my God, Tali, what am I going to do? We can't afford a child! What am I thinking? All that money on maternity clothes and diapers and clothes for the baby and… baby things!" she exclaims, frantic. "And then college…!"

"Woah," Tali says, holding a hand up to stop the flow of words erupting from Ziva's mouth. "Worry about one thing at a time. You are going to have a baby, we know that for sure. We can deal with the other things later. Let's just get you a nice outfit, okay? Just one outfit. Focus on this problem." Tali's attempts at soothing her appear to work, but in truth Ziva only appears to have calmed down. Her mind was whirring. _A child… What makes me think I can have a child?_

"Yes. You're right," Ziva says, standing and grabbing a shirt and pair of pants from the floor. "We will go shopping. Tony wants us at two, so we have three hours to find something suitable." Her face is calm and collected, appearing focused and ready to tackle the problem at hand.

"Shopping trip it is!" Tali exclaims, a grin spreading across her face.

…

"_Please?"_

"_Ziva, no."_

"_They want to meet you," Ziva insisted, grabbing Lila's hand._

"_Once they meet me they will shun me. I prefer things the way they are, thank you very much," the older girl responded._

"_You do not know that they will shun you," Ziva reminded her. _

"_I…" Lila began, but trailed off, unable to form a good response. _

"_Just come with me. They won't turn you away, I promise. I won't let them," Ziva vowed, standing from the creaky bed. It was breakfast time, and the cart with food had been left in the aisle way a few minutes ago. She knew it was only a matter of time before one of the other girls came to see why she was not eating._

"_I'll just grab my food really quickly and eat in here like normal," Lila replies, "I do not need to sit with them. I am content being alone."_

"_You're not alone anymore, Lila, and you won't be as long as I'm around. You don't need to be lonely. They will accept you, I know it."_

_Lila gives her a small smile, and Ziva knows that she has won. "Alright. I will go. But if this does not work out…"_

"_I shall never make you do it again," Ziva finishes. She walks to the curtain that opened up into the aisle and pulled it back, motioning for Lila to exit first. Upon hearing the curtain pull back, the girls sitting in their circle turned their heads so that their gazes rested upon Ziva and Lila, emerging from the room._

_The whispers began. _

"_What's Silent doing with Ziva?"_

"_Did she get her to talk?"_

"_Is she going to sit with us?"_

_Lila looks at Ziva uncertainly, and even though she was years older than her, Ziva could not help but think that Lila looked very much like a scared, uncertain child._

_Esther, who was viewed by most of the girls as the one in charge, stood from her place on the floor in greeting._

"_Ziva?" she asked, questions in her voice._

_Ziva gave them a small smile and placed a hand on her friend's back. "Her name is Lila," she said, starting off with the basics._

_The girls sitting on the circle did not say anything—they did not know what to think. Neither did Esther, but she did manage to formulate a reply. _

"_Shalom, Lila. Sh'mee Esther. Na'im me'od—" Esther began, but Ziva cut her off upon seeing the uncomfortable look on Lila's face. _

"_Esther. She does not speak Hebrew," Ziva explained. It took a second, but recognition dawned on Esther's face—on all of their faces._

"_That's why she doesn't talk? That's been it the whole time?"_

"_She just doesn't understand?"_

"_Why didn't she somehow tell us that?"_

_Esther held up her hand to stop the flow of questions. "What does she speak, then?"_

_Lila's eyes flitted nervously between Ziva and Esther and the girls sitting on the floor. She understood __**some**__ Hebrew, having picked up on a few things while living here in Be'er Sheva briefly and even during her childhood in Palestine, but the girls spoke so fast and Lila could not even begin to know what they were talking about._

"_She is Palestinian. She only speaks Arabic."_

_Lila recognized the words "Palestinian" and "Arabic," and she braced herself for the rejection. To her surprise, they did nothing of the sort._

_Esther studied Lila, her motherly eyes welcoming. "Asalam… alaykum," she said, her voice halting as she attempted to speak the one Arabic phrase that she knew. _

_Lila's eyes widened, and she replied as if in a daze. "Wa alaykum asalam," she answerd, a small smile spreading across her face. This… was not what she was expecting._

"_I assume that you speak Arabic, then?" Esther asked Ziva, and the latter responded with a nod. "Can you tell her that my name is Esther and that it is nice to meet her?"_

_And so went their conversation. Ziva soon took on the role of translator as Lila was introduced to each of the girls. Not one of them seemed to have a problem with Lila, something for which she was very glad. She had not realized just how much she had longed for friendly human companionship until now. _

_Ziva looked over to find Lila smiling once again, and a sense of accomplishment filled her heart._

…

"No, Tali," Ziva groans as her hopeful little sister points to yet another dress. While her sister means well, her taste is definitely much different from Ziva's. Ziva's style of fashion in no way includes dresses of any sort, and Tali knows this, but it does not stop her from shoving a pink strapless cocktail dress in her older sister's face.

"Oh come on, Ziva. Just because Abba made you wear _Mossad clothes_ your whole life doesn't mean that you still have to stick by his rules. He's all the way in Israel. I know there's a girl in you _somewhere _that wants to play dress-up."

Ziva scowls. "I do _not_ play dress-up."

"Well that's about to change. You're going to look nice for Tony," Tali insists, dragging her to another rack.

"It is no job of mine to _dress-up_ for men," Ziva replies, her voice dangerously low. _Not anymore, anyway,_ she adds silently.

"Fine then, do it for yourself. I know you prefer those loose cargo pants because they're what you're _used to_ but we're turning over a new leaf here. A new Ziva. And we start with a better wardrobe."

"We're just finding a dress," Ziva reminds her. "And I like Ziva the way she is."

Tali sighs and places her hands on her hips, turning to face her stubborn sister. "_Ziva._ Cooperate. We need to find you a dress for tonight, either way. You're not showing up in combat boots and baggy pants. Got it?" Ziva can't help but smirk a little at Tali's assertion of dominance.

It is at least a half hour before they finally come across something that Ziva will even consider wearing. She has not worn a dress since her mother's funeral, and even then she hated it. Reluctantly, she trudges to the changing room and emerges a minute later wearing it. However, the frown has disappeared from her face. There is a small, self-conscious smile on her face as she shows Tali. The navy blue dress comes down to a few inches above her knees and hugs her waist snugly. It was simple and plain, but it looked wonderful on Ziva. She felt _beautiful,_ something which was almost foreign to her. She had been dressed in various pieces of lingerie in the past two and a half years, more than she could count, and yes in those she did look sexy. But along with feeling sexy, there came a feeling of shame and disgust in herself.

There is no shame in how she feels now. The dress exhibits her body but is still modest, and she can't help but remember what Tali said a few minutes ago. She is turning over a new leaf.

Her trance is interrupted by the cry of her cell phone, and she darts back into the changing room. A number flashes across the screen that she vaguely recognizes as Tony's.

"Hello?"

"_Ziva! So glad you answered. Listen, there's been a light change in plans._"

Ziva's face falls. "Did something happen?"

"_No, no, nothing happened. It's just a change in venue, is all. Our M.E.'s mother has dementia, and he wants to be able to spend Thanksgiving with her without taking her out of the house. So we're having it at his house, instead. I hope that's okay. It's not far," _he explains.

Ziva swallows. "Okay. Still fourteen-hundred hours, yes?"

"_Yes, but, Ziva… I was hoping you would let me pick you up and drive you and your family there. I don't know the address but I know how to get there. I don't want you to end up lost on your way there," _he offers. Ziva frowns.

"Tony, I am not sure you want to be in an enclosed space with my brother," she cautions.

"_Relax. I'm a likeable guy. He won't beat me up too badly, will he?"_

"Ari does not find people to be likeable."

"_Anybody?"_

"When Shmuel Rubenstein kissed me on the playground in elementary school, I had to physically stop Ari from giving the kid a black eye," Ziva tells him, using a true example but leaving out the part where she herself socked the kid.

"_But I have no intention of hurting you. I have nothing to hide. He can grill—or cook—me all he wants."_

Ziva sighs. "I hope you know what you are getting yourself into. When should I expect you?"

"_One forty five at the latest," _he replies, and she can hear his triumphant smile even through the phone.

"Write your will before you come," she warns, and he laughs.

"_See ya, Ziva." _She flips her phone shut.

Ziva changes out of the dress and back into her comfortable clothing before stepping out of the dressing room.

"Judging by the smile you're trying so hard to hide, I'm guessing that was Tony?" Tali theorizes. Ziva just shoots her a look.

"It was, as a matter of fact."

"He's going to love you in that dress," Tali insists as they walk towards the checkout line.

"We're just friends," Ziva reminds her.

"Okay. Whatever you say," Tali surrenders, holding her hands up, "But he's still going to think you look gorgeous."

_A/N: Oh my god, that episode. _

_Thanks for reading! Big thanks to my reviewers, __**pirate princess1, barbra4317, Lirayen, NCIS Ziva DiNozzo, Angelhaggis, dvd123, prince-bishop, **__and __**Cameron-sarah**__ for the awesome reviews!_


	12. Chapter 12

"When are you going to tell me what we're doing? It's not _my_ birthday, I'm supposed to be in on this," Ari insists, frustrated at Ziva's silence. It's a little after half past one and Ziva and Tali have remained tight lipped about where they are going. Tali is in her room finishing changing, while Ari and Ziva stand in the living room. She is wearing her blue dress purchased a few hours ago, and Ari is wearing one of his suits which he usually wears to work.

"I'll tell you soon," Ziva promises.

"It's her _birthday_, where could she possibly want to go?" he questions.

"You'll see."

"I'm not going to like it, am I?"

"No."

"But you're making me go anyway, aren't you?"

"Yes."

Ari heaves a sigh. He hates surprises. Just then, Tali steps out of her room in a pink, knee length dress with a white sash tied at the back around her waist. The straps are small but she wears a white, unbuttoned cardigan over it to protect her from the chilliness in the November air.

"You look beautiful," Ari complements, giving her a smile. Tali grins, spinning.

"Ziva got me it! It's my birthday present!" she exclaims as the dress spins out around her. Ziva just smiles, thrilled that she likes it. She had spent at least two days' worth of paychecks from her minimum wage job on it, but the grin on Tali's face is worth it.

"You, too, Ziva. I have not seen you in a dress since…" he trails off, not wanting to taint this moment with unhappy memories, "…a long time ago."

"Thank you," she responds, truly flattered. Ari is not usually complementary towards her unnecessarily, but then again, a lot has changed.

"So, where am I taking us?" Ari asks, curiosity and apprehension written on his face. The doorbell rings, and Ziva swallows back the lump in her throat. She is not looking forward to this.

"Actually… someone else is driving," she admits, turning away and walking swiftly towards the door before she could see Ari's reaction.

"What?! Ziva…!" she hears him exclaim. Seconds later she hears him come after her. She opens the door. "I swear to God, Ziva, if—"

"Hello, Tony," Ziva greets the man in the doorway, cutting off her brother's protests.

"What is _he_ doing here?!" Ari yells in Hebrew, throwing his hands up in the air. The expression on Tony's face could have been considered humorous if the situation was not so serious.

"He is driving us to Thanksgiving Dinner," Ziva explains, keeping her calm and speaking in English so as to not make Tony uncomfortable.

"Like hell he is!"

"Ari, please, calm down. It is not a big deal," she assures him, even though she _knows_ that it is. There is a man, after all, standing in their doorway, and one that Ari does not know at that.

"Ziva—!"

"No. Ari. Let me explain," Ziva insists.

"Hi!" Ziva, Ari, and Tony's gazes all zero in Tali, who had come up behind the two siblings. "I am Ziva's sister, Tali. You are Tony, yes?" Tali introduces, extending her hand to in a proffered handshake to the stranger. Ari grabs her and effortlessly lifts her by the underarms, placing her on the opposite side of him so he stands between her and Tony.

"You two," Ari addresses Tony and his sister, his face all business, "Explain. Now. And while you're doing that, Agent _DiNozzo,_ you had better get your story straight because I find _one_ discrepancy and you are never to see my sister again." Ari is five years younger than Tony, but in that moment it was hard to tell. The latter extends his hand.

"I am Anthony DiNozzo, an NCIS Probationary Special Agent. It stands for—"

"I work for a law firm. I know what it stands for," Ari snips, and Tony withdraws his hand, nodding.

"Okay. We've met before."

"Yes. We have," Ari replies, his steely gaze revealing nothing.

"Tony has invited us to Thanksgiving dinner," Ziva explains, "And since Tali seemed to want nothing more than a real Thanksgiving dinner for her birthday, I accepted."

Ari glares. "Who will be there?"

"My team from NCIS. We're pretty tight-knit. We're going to our Medical Examiner, Ducky's, house."

Ari studies Tony for a minute before looking back to Ziva. "We do not know this man," he says, not caring that Tony was standing right there.

"_I_ do! Why can you not trust my judgment?"

"I told you why! You have _shitty_ judgment, Ziva, or have you forgotten?"

"Ari…" she warns, her voice low and dangerous.

"How would you know that he is trustworthy after only a few weeks? Especially _you_ of all people! You do not _trust_ people, let alone strangers—"

"He is not a stranger," Ziva insists.

"But _you can't know someone that quickly!_ You do not know that he is a good man!"

In her peripheral vision, Tony fidgets uncomfortably, but does not jump into the conversation.

"I have spent enough time around bad men, Ari, to know that he is not one," Ziva says, her voice low and serious.

Ari does not know how to reply to that.

"Ari, he makes Ziva smile," comes a small, somewhat timid voice interrupting their conversation and speaking in Hebrew. "He makes her happy. How could that be bad?"

Ari is silent, again not able to formulate an acceptable response. After a few seconds of floundering, he replies, "He could hurt her." Ziva detects a hint of pain in his voice.

"Could and will are two different things," Tali insists. "Don't try to take away her happiness just because of a _possibility._"

After he ponders this for a second, he turns back to Tony who is still standing in the threshold. "You. With me," he beckons, turning away and heading towards the kitchen.

"Ari, we will be late!"

"It's fine," Tony assures her, "We're not on a tight schedule."

"Tony…" she says, a warning in her eyes.

"It's fine. Let me talk to him," Tony tells her before following Ari. When he enters the kitchen, he sees the younger man standing dead in the center with his arms folded across his chest.

"What are your intentions with Ziva?" he interrogates, his voice rigid and demanding.

"Sorry?"

"You heard me. Tell me your agenda."

"Look, Ari…"

"Agent DiNozzo, I am going to tell you something. Ziva would not want me to tell you this, but I feel that you should know that I was trained by Mossad. If you do not hurt her, I will not hurt you. Deal?"

Tony swallows, somewhat nervous now. _Mossad? Damn._

"Yes."

"Ziva has been hurt enough in her life. These last few years for her… They have been hell. She has been hurt by literally _hundreds_ of men. If I have to add your name to that list…" he trails off, a warning in his voice.

"I have absolutely no intention of hurting her," Tony promises.

"Then we should be good. But you never answered my first question. What are your aims? What are you trying to accomplish?" Ari asks, his voice a little less steely now.

"To be honest, I don't know," Tony admits.

"And you like her?"

"…Yes…"

"Like… or _like?"_

Tony sighs, running a hand through his hair, and does not respond. Ari nods.

"I see. And how old are you?"

Tony gulps. "It's not really important."

"Twenty-five? Twenty-six?"

"Twenty-seven," he admits shyly.

"And you are aware that Ziva is not even twenty yet?"

"Yes. But… Look. I know that Ziva is probably never going to see me as more than a friend. And that's okay with me. She told me that a romantic relationship is not what she needs right now," Tony assures.

"Ziva will never need a romantic relationship," Ari replies, and Tony laughs.

"I think that may be the protective older brother talking. But I'd rather that she was my friend than not be in my life at all."

"And you have known her for how long?" Ari asks, his eyebrows raised.

"I have grown fond of her," Tony says, "is that so hard to wrap your head around?"

Ari sighs, unfolding his arms. "I do not want to see her get hurt."

"And you won't," Tony vows, his eyes displaying his honesty.

Ari nods. "About the age difference... It bothers me, yes. But I understand that my sister's suffering has made her spirit older than her body. She is not like most nineteen year olds. She's seen more than most people ever see in a lifetime."

"The IDF?" Tony questions, curious.

Ari frowns. "That is a discussion you would need to have with Ziva, although I in no way recommend it. She will probably… what is the saying? Have your head?"

Tony smirks. "Yes. She probably will. But… will you at least tell me… was Ziva… was she trained by, you know…?"

Ari frowns. "I have said too much already, Agent DiNozzo," he replies, slapping the older man on the back and they turned to walk out.

"Call me Tony," the older man corrects. Ari sighs.

"Let's go get some turkey, DiNozzo."

…

Ziva has to fight Ari for the front seat. The idea of letting her sit up there with Tony is apparently not one that appeals to him. For Tony's sake, she makes sure that her brother does not win. She does not want him driving with the distraction of Ari staring him down.

Despite having left a little late, they pull up at their destination on time. It's _not_ what Ziva was expecting.

"Welcome to the Mallard Manor," Tony says, his usual bright-eyed smile on his face.

"DC pays their Medical Examiners well," Ari muses as they step out of the car.

"Nah, he comes from a pretty wealthy family back in Scotland. I should probably warn you about his mother, though. Her dementia has gotten pretty bad," Tony cautions them as they mount the steps.

"What is dee-men-sha?" Tali asks, sounding the word out with her typical curious and eager-to-learn expression on her face.

"Sometimes, Tali, when a person gets old, their brain can get sick. Dementia is a type of sickness. Mrs. Mallard has trouble remembering where she is and who the people are around her. Sometimes she thinks she's still thirty years old, living in Scotland," Tony explains. His words are simple, easy for a twelve year old's mind to comprehend, but they are not condescending. For that, Ziva is grateful. Tali needs no measures of condescention.

"That is sad," she muses in her heavily accented English.

"Yes. But Mrs. Mallard is not sad, she doesn't realize anything is wrong. So usually it's best to go with it," Tony tells her, giving her a soft smile. Ziva sees Ari frown, and she knows that Tony is, against her brother's will, growing on him. She can't help but notice how good Tony is with kids, and she instinctually, without realizing it, moves her hand to her own belly, over her own child.

Tony rings the doorbell, and a minute later the door is answered by a woman that Ziva recognizes to be Abby. When she went to NCIS to describe her attacker, the sketch artist had had to take a break for personal reasons. An agent had escorted her down to the basement, where a black-haired, pigtailed woman in a white lab coat and platforms was working, music blaring in the background. The woman now stands in front of them, an expression of excitement on her face.

"Tony! You're here!" she cries in excitement. "Happy thanksgiving! And you are Ziva, right? We met once before! I had to get your DNA for comparison and make sure if there was any evidence left on you on that one case."

"Yes," Ziva replies, somewhat impressed that Abby remembers her name. "You are Abby, no? This is my little sister, Tali, and my brother, Ari," she introduces, gesturing to her siblings.

"Cool! It's your birthday, right?" she asks, addressing Tali.

"Yes! I'm twelve. I love your tattoo!" she exclaims. Ari frowns.

"You are not allowed to get a tattoo, Tali," Ari reprimands. Tali pouts.

Watching Abby and Tali converse, Ziva can't help but notice the similarities between the two girls. They are both bubbly and optimistic and good-spirited. It is not hard for her to like Abby, despite her strange style.

Abby ushers them into the house, and Ziva takes a look around. It is certainly a beautiful home, with ornate decorations and beautiful architecture.

"Archibald! It's so _good_ to see you!" says an old, frail voice. The five people turn to look in the little old lady that has approached them. She appears to be looking directly at Tony.

"Mother, that is _Tony_. Cousin Archie died in World War Two," reprimands the older man with glasses who approaches the frail woman from behind. "You must forgive my mother. She rarely has her wits about her anymore, I'm afraid," he sighs. "I am Doctor Mallard, but please, call me Ducky, everyone else does! You must be Ziva, and her family. Ari… and Tali, was it?"

"Yes. It is nice to meet you," Tali greets, flashing him her innocent smile.

"Thank you for opening your home to us," Ziva expresses, extending her hand. He shakes it with both of his own. Ari does the same, albeit seemingly reluctantly. Ziva shoots him a discreet, disapproving frown.

"It is no problem, I assure you, I do love playing host. This big house with no one to share it with but mother and the dogs? The pleasure is mine. Why don't you all come in to the parlor? I have tea brewing, not the American kind, of course, but the _real _kind. Whoever thought tea should be put in a paper bag? A disgrace, I tell you," Ducky admonishes, shaking his head. Ziva smiles, agreeing wholeheartedly with his statement. It does not take her long to decide that she likes this _Ducky_ character.

They follow him in the direction of the parlor. Ziva, despite being somewhat anxious about meeting so many new people, she can't help but admit that she feels very welcome. Tony certainly has chosen his friends wisely.

"This is a fine young woman you have wrangled yourself here, Archibald," Mrs. Mallard coos, reaching up to Ziva and pinching her cheeks. Ziva freezes. "You are very beautiful, Archie is a lucky lad. But I should warn you,he's _not_ a very good—"

"That's quite enough, Mother, stop harassing the poor girl."

"And you, young lad! Why aren't you just _smashing_?" Ziva snorts a laugh as she realizes that Victoria Mallard's focus has now shifted to none other than Ari, who looks like a deer in the headlights. She approaches him and pinches his cheeks in much the same way that she did to Ziva. Ziva looks to Tali, who appears as if she's having a very difficult time not bursting out in laughter.

Abby, seemingly sensing his trouble, takes a few steps towards the little old lady and Ziva's Mossad-trained brother. Bending down a few inches, she links her arm with Mrs. Mallard's and tugs her slightly in the direction of the kitchen.

"Mrs. Mallard, how about we go check on how our turkey is cooking?" she suggests, sending a smirk in Ari's direction. He looks relieved and gives her a nod of appreciation.

They go through a doorway and into what must be the parlor. It is quite large with a beautiful crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. There are three couches, all looking almost too beautiful to sit upon. Ziva's eyes land on the two men lounging on the couch, with no apparent qualms about doing so. One is grey-haired with steely blue eyes that Ziva recognizes as Agent Gibbs, and the other is man who is much younger and much less serious. They both stand and let the party approach them.

"Nice of you to join the party, DiNozzo," the older man greets. Tony frowns.

"Didn't know you'd be here, Boss," he tells Gibbs.

"Ducky convinced me, accused me of being a… what was it? Hermit?" Gibbs replies, shooting Ducky a pointed look.

"Yes, Jethro, a social butterfly you are _not_," Ducky responds, his words friendly. Gibbs just shifts his focus to the three strangers.

"Gibbs," he introduces, extending his hand. "Ziva, right? I remember you," he acknowledges, "And this is your family?" Ziva shakes his hand, giving a firm nod.

"Yes. This is Ari, my brother, and this is—"

"—Tali," the young girl interjects, shaking Gibbs' hand enthusiastically. "Nice to meet you, Gibbs."

"Nice to meet you, too. Heard it was your birthday?" Gibbs' attitude shifts a little—Tali tends to have that effect on people.

"Yes! And it's Thanksgiving. I have never had Thanksgiving before," Tali tells him, smiling in her charming fashion.

"Well, you're in for a treat, then," says the other, younger man. "Happy birthday, Tali. I'm Tim McGee, but you can call me Tim if you want." Ziva remembers when Tony told her about McGee. _He's my partner. Smells like an overheated computer chip, but if you ever need your computer fixed or someone tracked down, he's your man. He's loyal, a real stand up guy. I tease him, but it's only to make him stronger. You'll like him._

"Thanks, Mr. Tim! I am twelve," Tali informs him matter-of-factly.

"That's exciting. Twelve's a good age," McGee states, smiling down at her, before shifting his gaze to Ziva. "It's good to finally meet you, Ziva. I've heard a lot about you. DiNozzo doesn't shut up about you."

Ziva's eyebrows raise, and she looks at Tony to her left, who shoots McGee a disapproving look and, upon seeing her looking at him, gulps visibly.

"He does, does he?" Ari asks, his eyes wary as usual. Ziva sighs.

"Ari, please, for heaven's sake, _relax,"_ Ziva pleads, rolling her eyes at her brother. "Forgive him. He is in a rather grumbly mood today. What is it you American's say? He got up on the bad side of his bed?" When Ziva finishes, her gaze falls upon Gibbs, who is studying her brother with an intensity that seems to drop the temperature in the room by ten degrees.

"We call it the Gibbs glare," Tony whispers discreetly in her ear, seeing where her gaze is focused.

Just then, Abby entered the room, pulling an oven mitt off of her hand. "Dinner's almost ready! Come on, let's set the table," she calls, gesturing for them to come.

"Abby, where is Mother?" Ducky asks, concern on his face.

"She's right…" Abby trails off, looking around. "Oops. Mrs. Mallard!"

"I got it, Abs. Tony, with me," Gibbs commands, turning and walking out of the room, Tony on his six.

"Go on with Abby, I'll be right back," Tony tells Ziva, before disappearing through the doorway at Gibbs' heel. As they navigate through the house, checking corners and hallways for Mrs. Mallard, Tony speaks.

"What's up?" he asks, knowing that Gibbs would not have pulled him aside like this unless he had something to say. Gibbs stops and faces Tony.

"Her brother."

"What about him?"

"I'm suspicious," Gibbs states.

"He's just overprotective," Tony assures him.

"I don't like how he carries himself. He's been trained. I can tell. You said they are Israeli?"

Tony sighs and runs his hand through his hair, looking away. "Yeah… He told me he was trained by Mossad."

"Mossad?" Gibbs asks incredulously, his eyebrows raised.

"Yep."

"Why's he here now?"

"Don't know. Ziva won't answer any questions about it."

"And this doesn't strike you as… suspicious?"

Tony scoffs. "They're not spies, Ari's only twenty-two and he's the oldest of them! Do you really think _Tali _is a spy?" he questions skeptically.

"Mossad starts them young."

"You have something against Mossad?"

"Not against them, but I don't trust them either. They have hidden agendas, ulterior motive, always—"

"And you think the CIA doesn't?"

Gibbs snorts. "I don't trust CIA agents, either."

"Ziva isn't a spy, Gibbs. Besides, do you really think that Ari would have admitted to being trained by Mossad if he was actually a Mossad officer? That would be a pretty dumbass move," Tony points out. Gibbs studies him.

"Don't want to see you get hurt, DiNozzo. Watch your back around him."

"Okay, if it makes you feel better, but he'll like me soon enough. No one can resist the DiNozzo charm."

Gibbs just smirks and turns away from him, walking down the hallway. They find Victoria Mallard in the pantry, sitting on a bucket.

"Oh, Archibald! Good, you brought the butler! I am in the mood for some tea and crumpets, Oscar, chop chop!" she demands, waving them away with her hand.

"Mrs. Mallard, it's almost dinner time, why don't you come back with us?"

"Oh, what has the cook prepared for us tonight? The old Frenchman seems to have a liking for froglegs, even though he knows that I _despise_ it, I swear the old bampot seems to _want_ to loose his job!"

Tony and Gibbs return with Mrs. Mallard to the kitchen, where a beautiful turkey sits on a fine silver platter. Dishes filled with all types of delicious looking food sit around it, ready to be exported to the dining room table. He doesn't see Ziva. Ducky sees the question in his eyes and smiles.

"She's setting the table just through that door, Tony."

Tony thanks him with a smile and goes to leave. "Ah, ah! Don't you even think of leaving without taking something with you, young man. Be of _some_ use!" Tony just chuckles, saluting Ducky, and grabs the bowl of dressing.

Ziva, Abby, and Tali are in the dining room, placing napkins and silverware in their correct places. Tony enters, smiling ear to ear with a big bowl in his arms, and she can't help but be amazed at all of this. Their team works together flawlessly, matching each other move for move. Ziva has a hard time thinking anything but happy thoughts—any darkness lingering in her mind is driven out by the smiles that surround her, Tony and Tali's especially. Tony's smile is almost always uplifting, she has found, and Tali's… Well, just seeing Tali so happy is enough to make Ziva's entire day. There have been times that Ziva has not been confident in her abilities as a guardian for her little sister, but she knows that as long as she can make Tali smile and give her the love she needs and deserves, everything else is merely trivial.

The men begin carrying in the food, dish by dish, until finally the table is nearly full. Then enters Ducky, carefully carrying the large platter, a beautifully cooked turkey sitting atop it. The bird takes its place in the middle of the table, and the guests begin to find their seats.

Ziva goes to sit beside where Tony has already found his place, but Ari reaches for the chair a second before she does. Frowning in disapproval at his not-so-subtle attempts at keeping her from Tony, she moves instead to Tony's free right side. Ari rolls his eyes at her, and she smirks.

Something inside of her marvels at the irony that Ari's attempts to keep her from Tony only make her want to be closer to him. Whether it is simply to spite her brother or because she always wants what no one wants her to have, she does not know.

Tali takes her seat at Ziva's right, the smile on her face still radiant.

"Careful, Tali. Keep that up and your face just might freeze like that," Ziva teases, playing with the end of her sister's braid.

"Will not," Tali shoots back, the grin not disappearing. Ducky and Gibbs sit at the heads of the table, Gibbs to Ziva's left and Ducky to her right. Abby, Timothy, and Mrs. Mallard sit on the opposite side of the table.

"Jethro, would you like to do the honors?" Ducky offers, gesturing to the turkey. Gibbs nods, standing, and realization dawns on Ducky's face. "Oh, dear. It does seem that I've forgotten the carving knife!" He moves to get up, but Gibbs holds up his hand.

"Stay, Duck, I got this," he assures his friend, pulling something out of his pocket. He presses something on it, and a three-inch blade pops out. Tali gasps.

"DiNozzo, need yours, too," Gibbs demands, extending his hand.

"You know, Jethro, I really should just go get the carving knife and fork, who knows where that thing has been!"

"Relax, Duck, I cleaned it this morning," Gibbs assures him.

Tony sees Gibbs' proffered hand, and goes to retrieve his knife from his pocket. "Right. Rule nine."

"Use mine." Tony looks to his left to see that Ari has beaten him to it. His knife is sitting in the palm of Gibbs' hand before Tony can even locate his own. Gibbs looks at it in suspicion.

"You carry a knife everywhere?" he asks.

"Yes. You do too, no?" Ari questions rhetorically.

"It clean?"

"As a bell."

"Whistle," Tony corrects.

"Pardon?"

"The phrase is clean as a whistle," he elaborates.

"Why would a whistle be clean? Do you not put your mouth on a whistle?" Tali questions, confused.

"I have come to realize that you should not question American idioms, Tali, they don't make sense no matter how you look at them," Ziva puts forth.

"Hey! We gonna eat or are you just going to bicker all day?" Gibbs calls them to attention. The table is silent. Gibbs is about to cut into the turkey, when Abby interjects.

"Wait! We didn't say the blessing!"

Tony fidgets uncomfortably. "Um, Abby, we don't all have the same religion," he tells her, shooting her a pointed stare.

"It is okay, Tony, we do not mind," Tali puts forth. "It is Thanksgiving, we are supposed to say what we are grateful for. We all pray, even though it is a little differently. We can still say the blessing together."

"I think that is a great idea," Ziva adds, smiling down at her little sister.

"Me too," Abby replies. So let's go around the table and say what we're most thankful for! And then we can eat. I'll start. I'm thankful for all of you and, even though we haven't known each other for very long, I feel like this team will be friends for many years to come. Okay, Mrs. Mallard, your turn," she finishes, passing it off to her left.

"What? Oh, my dear girl, I am sorry. What was the question?"

"What are you most thankful for?" Abby reiterates in a patient voice.

"That these are not frog legs! It seems that Philipe has finally gotten his wits about him and made something halfway decent for once!" Mrs. Mallard rants, shaking her head.

"Mother, I fired Philipe twenty—never mind," Ducky sighs, "I am thankful that I am so blessed to have such great friends, both old," he looks at Gibbs and his mother, "and recent," he looks pointedly at Abby, McGee, and Tony, "and brand new." His gaze settles on the David children.

"I am thankful for being twelve. There are some people who are not as lucky as I am, and they never get to be twelve. But I am thankful that Ari and Ziva and I all got to be twelve once, and that Ziva gets to be nineteen and Ari gets to be twenty-two. We are lucky. Oh, and I'm thankful for Thanksgiving," Tali adds. Ziva listens to her sister's words, and feels a lump form in her throat at the words from her little sister's mouth—her little sister who is no longer so little at heart. Realizing it is her turn, she attempts to swallow.

"I… am thankful… for my siblings. For being here, in America… with them, and no where else." She chooses her words carefully, wanting Ari and Tali to know the true meaning behind her words—_I'm grateful that we're all here, and safe… and away from Eli_. This makes her remember something. "And I am grateful for my baby," she adds, her hands cradling her still-flat abdomen. Judging from the lack of shock on the other's faces, she figures that Tony must have told them.

It is now Ari's turn. "I am thankful that my sisters are here, with me…" Ziva does not miss the _and safe_ that he has implied. His hand gives hers a gentle squeeze, and she remembers that he thought he to be dead. The lump in her throat grows larger.

"I'm thankful for all of you," Gibbs says, short, sweet, and to the point as always.

Timothy finishes. "I'm thankful for my family, both here and back home."

"God… Thank you for this food and for our friends and family. We are truly blessed. Amen," Abby finishes.

Gibbs then digs the pocket knives into the turkey, and begins to place the pieces he cuts onto the plates. Ziva can see Ducky's obvious disapproval at what Tony deems their "redneck" carving methods, and there are frequent exclamations of "be careful, Jethro, that is fine silver you are carving upon".

They all begin to eat, conversation striking up. Ducky has begun talking to Ziva and Tali, and Ziva remembers what Tony told her about the doctor's anecdotes.

"I _told_ the lad it was a bad idea, of course, but he never listened to me! We ended up having to get away on unicycles, which you can imagine was quite a sight! It was quicker than running, though, and with a pack of angry martens after you!"

"What are _martens,_ Ducky?" Ziva inquires. She finds Ducky's stories to be both entertaining and soothing.

"Well they are sort of like ferrets, my dear. Nocturnal little fellows, but it turns out if you bother them enough they will, no matter the time of day, come after you! They are nasty when they are angry, and I have the scar to prove it. Of course, they usually travel alone, so why there were almost ten of them I have no idea. It's merely another mystery that I believe will always puzzle me."

Tali ends up striking up conversation with Abby, and Ziva takes a break from listening to Ducky's stories when she hears the topic of conversation.

"…one on my ankle, maybe a butterfly—"

"Tali, you are not getting a tattoo," Ziva reprimands.

"It's okay, Ziva, we're talking about henna tattoos. I have the ingredients to make henna back in my lab. Maybe sometime you could drop by, Tali!"

"Oh! I would love that! I bet your lab is super cool."

"You would like it. Do you like science?"

"Yes! I love it!" Tali exclaims, grinning ear to ear _still._ Ziva wonders how her face doesn't hurt.

"Then you should come by, definitely, and I can show you around. It's pretty cool."

"That would be so much fun! You're the best, Abby. I love your style."

Ziva just shakes her head in awe at how well her sister and the goth scientist manage to get along. They have much in common, and Ziva is grateful.

To her left, the air is so thick that she thinks she can slice through it with Gibbs' army knives. Gibbs still is studying Ari suspiciously, and Ari is trying not to look overly uncomfortable. Tony is trying to get McGee to cop up to what he had done to the former's keyboard. From what Ziva can gather, the prank had been pulled two days ago.

"Come on, McGee! My F's are G's and my Z's are X's and my 2's are 1's!" he practically begs.

"You glued my fingers to my keyboard."

"You stole my magazines!"

"You took my self-help tapes!"

"You _had_ self-help tapes."

"Have you tried hitting it, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asks.

"Not sure that's gonna work here, boss," Tony chuckles. He leans over and whispers to Ziva, "Gibbs is about as technologically savvy as a dinosaur."

"Heard that, DiNozzo," Gibbs admonishes, frowning disapprovedly.

"Right, boss," Tony replies, and slaps himself on the back of the head without missing a beat.

"Why did you do that?" Ziva asks, confused.

"Gibbs headslaps me when I do something stupid. It's a sign of affection," Tony assures her.

Gibbs scoffs. "Sure they are."

Ziva can't help but smile at their antics. It is so open, so natural, so easy. It is not hard to fit in with them. She _likes_ them.

Once everyone has had their fill of the delicious Thanksgiving dinner, Abby disappears into the kitchen. A minute later, she reappears with a beautiful, dark orange pumpkin pie with twelve lit candles stuck in it. A chorus immediately starts up.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Tali… happy birthday to you!" they sing. Their tune is off and they're all in different keys, but Ziva knows that Tali does not care. The pie is sat down in front of her, and Abby urges her to blow out the candles.

"Make a wish!"

With one gust of air, the candles are extinguished and Tali's smile is triumphant. Abby goes back to the kitchen and returns with another pie in her hand and a bag with the words _happy birthday_ drawn on the front.

"What is this?" Tali asks.

"_This,"_ Abby explains, gently setting the other pie onto the table, "Is our pie. The pie with the candles was all yours!"

"All _mine?!_"

"Well, you won't be able to eat it all, but you can take the rest home and have some for the rest of your birthday week," Abby exclaims. "Oh, and I got you a present. I just met you today but I got you something that I knew I couldn't go wrong with."

Tali accepts the gift bag that Abby has handed her, and she pulls the paper out to reveal a grey, stuffed hippo.

"It's a Bert!" Tali exclaims, remembering when Abby explained to her her farting stuffed hippo.

"It's a mini bert," Abby corrects, "He's Bert's little brother. I call him Ernie."

"Hi, Ernie!" Tali greets, squeezing him tightly. The animal farts, and Ari looks appalled.

"_Tali!_" he exclaims. Ziva laughs.

"It was the animal, Ari," she assures him.

"Oh," he responds, looking relieved and somewhat embarrassed.

Ziva spends the rest of the evening basking in her sister's happiness and enjoying some of her own, as well. She has hardly worried about anything all night, and it is so easy to fall into this comfortable setting. She can't help but like Tony's friends, and she wonders what she ever worried about. They can be trusted, she knows this. They are open books.

She is glad that they came.


	13. Chapter 13

Social hour at the Mallard Manor Thanksgiving Dinner lasts until ten at night before Ziva finally says that they need to get home and get Tali to sleep. Despite the late hour, Tali is still going strong, whether from excitement or too much sugar Ziva does not know. What she does know, however, that a crash is not far off. So they say their goodbyes and head outside into the chilly night. Ari does not put up a fight before sliding into the backseat for the drive home, and the significance of this escapes the minds of neither Tony nor Ziva.

"Oh! Look how pretty that fountain is! Ziva, do you see the fountain?" Tali exclaims. She is commenting on everything that she sees outside her car window, hyper still.

"Yes, I see it," Ziva replies, "It is very pretty." The fatigue is evident in her voice. It has been a long, albeit enjoyable, day.

They are almost home when Ziva realizes Tali's comments have stopped. She looks back, panicked at first as any sister would be, but sees that nothing is wrong. Tali, who is now lying across the back seat with her head in Ari's lap, seems to have reached the end of her energy.

"Looks like Tali's crashed," Tony observes, "I was wondering how long she would be able to keep going like that."

"She looks so small," Ziva mutters, her eyes glued to her sisters precious, peaceful face. "I cannot believe she is twelve years old."

Ari nods, concurring. "Time does go by quickly." The car pulls up in front of the Davids' apartment complex.

"Ari, you go ahead with Tali. I will be in in a minute," Ziva tells him. She does not miss the cautious glance he shoots at Tony, but after a few seconds of indecision he caves. With a sleeping little girl cradled in his arms, he steps out of the car.

"Thank you for inviting us," he says to Tony before swinging the door shut.

"He is warming up to you," Ziva observes, looking over at Tony. His face is illuminated softly by the street light shinging in through the windshield.

"I'm irresistible," Tony replies, grinning in his usual, lopsided manner. It's cliché, but Ziva's heart skips a beat.

"I know Ari already said it, but… Thank you for inviting us. I… I did really have a nice time," she admits.

"We loved having you. The team's really taken a liking to you, I can tell. I'm sure they'll be bugging me to bring you the next time they have a get together like that," he informs her.

"That… sounds very nice. I really liked them, too. They made me feel… welcome; made all of us feel welcome." If she is honest with herself, she can't remember that last time she had felt so welcome.

"You know, Ziva, I didn't get the chance to tell you earlier, but… you look very nice," he tells her, and even in the low lighting Ziva can see a little color flood his cheeks. She looks down at her lap, flattered but uncomfortable.

"_Todah,_" she replies softly.

"What does that mean?"

"It is Hebrew. For _thank you._"

"Oh, well then… _Prego,"_ he responds, and she looks up to meet his twinkling gaze.

"You are a good man, Tony," she informs him, the words so soft that he is only half sure of what she said.

"Well, that's good to hear. There are people who would tell you otherwise," he replies, joking.

"I know I am not always very… open… with you. But I am being forthright with you now," she assures him.

The corner of his mouth pulls upwards. "You're a very fascinating woman, Ziva," he expresses. "I like a little mystery."

"You solve crimes for a living. Should I expect you to try to unravel my mystery?" she questions, wariness in her voice.

"You don't expect me to know nothing about you forever, do you?"

Ziva sighs. "Some things are not meant to be revealed."

"Yeah, I understand. Your brother… he hinted at some things today…"

Her eyes widen, and he sees alarm flash through them. She quickly regains her composure. "What kind of things?" She has to work hard to keep her voice steady. He _cannot_ know about her past. This friendship, or _whatever_ you want to call it, is one of the few things that she considers to be good in her life. It is comfortable and joyful and nearly effortless. She cannot lose him to the ghosts of the past she is trying so hard to leave behind.

Tony's expression is wary and somewhat nervous. "He said that he was trained by Mossad, and that you've been through some bad things in the past few years. He said you've been hurt by a lot of men." His eyes are pleading and kind and compassionate.

"_Son of a bitch!"_ she growls, her fists clenching. How dare he? He has no business telling Tony these things! Is this his plan? To try to sabotage her relationship by scaring Tony away? Why can't he see that she's _happy_ with him?

"Don't be angry with him. He's just trying to help," Tony practically begs.

She meets his gaze, fire burning in her eyes. "It is not his place to be telling you these things! Maybe I did not want you to _know_ about Mossad, that is in my past and it will _stay there_! He knows this!" she rants.

"You… were trained by them too?"

Ziva's eyes go wide as she realizes what she has just revealed. She clamps her mouth shut.

Tony sighs. "Ziva, this doesn't change anything. I mean, it explains why you're so kickass. It explains why at times you can be… emotionally distant." Her eyes narrow, but he holds up his hand. "Just hear me out, okay? Look, I don't know what happened to you or why you left. I don't know how you've been hurt. But for what it's worth… You should know that I'm not going to hurt you. Whatever those men did to you in your past… It's the _past._ And I'm not gonna hurt you like they did."

Ziva does not know what to say to this. "Tony…"

"Just don't be too angry with your brother, okay? He's only looking out for you. He's doing his job, making sure I'm not going to be just another man to hurt his little sister."

"Or he was trying to scare you away," she adds bitterly.

"I don't think he was. Besides… I'm not afraid," he insists. She tilt her head to the side.

"You have not yet heard the… gory details, yes?"

"I'm not gonna get scared and run away with my tail between my legs. I don't know who you were, but I know who you are now—at least I think I've got a pretty good handle on it."

"And who am I?" Ziva asks, unable to stop herself. Who is she, now that she is not her father's warrior, or future Mossad assassin, or martyr, or even _Ziva David?_

"You're a wonderful, beautiful, fiery young woman with a lot going for her. A great older sister, selfless, determined, strong, with a heart that's been hurt a lot of times but still capable of…" he trails off, and Ziva is curious.

"Still capable of what?"

"…Of love." He is staring into her eyes, and Ziva does not think she's ever seen someone look so genuine. Her breath is stolen from her lungs. How does he expect her to respond to that. Seeing her trouble, Tony speaks. "I should be heading home."

"Yes. It is late. Thanks… for everything." She does not know if he realizes it or not, but her gratitude extends beyond the Thanksgiving dinner and driving them home—despite being a metaphorical emotional minefield, this conversation has left Ziva with a calming sense of peace.

"Anytime. You going to be working tomorrow?" he questions as she opens the door and steps out of the car.

"Yes. Should I be expecting you?"

His trademark crooked smile appears on his face once again. "Like I have anywhere else to be."

"Tomorrow is Friday," she reminds him, "I am sure there are other things you could be doing on a Friday night."

"Sure. But I'm not sure they are as enjoyable."

"As what? Drinking beer and watching me clean counters?" She can't stop the tiny smile that tugs at the corners of her mouth.

He just shrugs. He wants to tell her that talking to her beats clubbing and one night stands hands down, but he doesn't know if, given the status of their relationship, it's something he should tell her. There's been enough honesty for one night. "'Night, Ziva. See you tomorrow."

"Goodbye, Tony," she bids, offering him her little, self-conscious smile. She shuts the door and walks towards the building, only looking back after the sound of his car driving away has faded into the night.

…

Ari climbs the stairs to their apartment, thanking God that they only live on the second floor. Tali is not as light as she used to be and he is tired by the time they reach the door. Somehow, he manages to retrieve the key from his pocket and unlock the door without putting her down nor waking her. As the door swings open, she just nestles her head closer to his chest. Dropping the key on the counter, he heads towards the apartment's two bedrooms. His is on the right, but he makes a left to get to Ziva and Tali's. He enters their room, lit only by the moonlight filtering in through the blinds, and gently lays her down on the bed. She grumbles softly in her sleep, but does not wake. He gently slips her shoes off of her feet, setting them down next to the bed. Carefully and strategically, he pulls the comforter and sheets out from under her body before pulling them back up over her sleeping figure. He does not want her to sleep in her dress, but waking her up is out of the question. The elastic bands keeping her twin braids in place are delicately removed and he runs his fingers through her hair, untangling the woven strands and smoothing it down on her head and pillow.

He is just tucking the covers in around her little body when she stirs, and he sighs.

"Ari?" she mumbles, her eyes flickering open.

"Go back to sleep, Tali," he urges, running his hand down the side of her head.

"Thank you for today," she mutters, her speech still garbled from sleep.

"It was Ziva's idea."

"You cooperated," she answers, meeting his gaze. "Ari?"

"Hmm?"

"I think Ziva's actually happy," Tali observes.

"I think so, too."

"She deserves it."

"More than anyone," he agrees.

"You deserve to be happy, too," she mumbles, and he can't help but smile.

"We all do. Now go to sleep." He leans down and places a kiss on Tali's forehead, running his hand over her head one more time. "_Laila tov, Talileh._ _Ani ohev otach._"

"_Ani ohevet otcha,"_ she replies sleepily, and her eyelids droop shut. Her breathing evens out, and she is asleep almost instantaneously.

He stands there for a few minutes, just watching her sleep. The moonlight illuminates her young face in a soft glow. The innocence there takes his breath away. His mind is drawn to Ziva, who no longer shows that same innocence, and a sigh escapes his mouth as he is reminded of how he failed to protect her.

He is in the process of sneaking back into his room when he runs into her in the hallway. A frown appears on her face.

"You told Tony about Mossad." The disapproving look on her face is unmistakable. "And about my past."

"I hardly told him anything!" he protested in a whisper.

"It was not your place either way!"

He sighs. "I'm sorry, Ziva. I just wanted to make sure he wouldn't hurt you like they did. I failed you the first time, I won't let it happen again. Not on my watch."

"Tony is a good man," she maintains, insistent that he understand what she has come to know.

Ari takes her hand into his, giving it a meaningful squeeze. "I think I believe that. I do not fully trust him, but… He has not given me any reason to not. And you should know that… I do trust your judgment."

"You have a peculiar way of showing it," she snorts, releasing his hand and crossing her arms across her chest.

"I'm just worried. I am tired of seeing you hurt."

Ziva sighs heavily. "So am I." Pain and memories are evident, and Ari almost feels guilty for bringing that up once more. "Just from now on, let me decide what I do or don't tell Tony about Israel, Mossad, and Eli. I do not want to scare him away."

"Believe me, Ziva, I saw the way he was looking at you. I think it will take a lot to scare him away," Ari chortles, and Ziva raises her eyebrows.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

He just smirks and places a loving kiss on her temple. "You always were naïve," he muses, not answering her question. "_Laila tov,_ _Zivaleh,"_ he expresses before turning away and disappearing into his room.

Trying not to think too much of her brother's words, she focuses on changing out of her dress and into one of the long t-shirts that she usually sleeps in. They were her father's, a lifetime ago, when Ziva was young and innocent, her mother was still alive, and Eli David was still somewhat of a family man. She is not quite sure why she chose them to take with her to America, especially after what Eli has done to her, but she's sure it has something to do with the fact that, despite everything, she loves her father. She may not love whom he has become, but she loves the man who he once was. She does not miss Eli David, Deputy Director of Mossad—the man whom he has been for the past nearly five years. She does, however, miss the man who would tuck her and Tali in bed at night and tell her stories of faraway lands and walk beside her while she learned to ride one of her _Dod Ezra_'s Arabian ponies. She misses her _abba._ This shirt is all she has left of the man he once was, and with each day the hope of finding that man again disappears. Ambition and power and the pressures of his job have changed him, and Ziva does not think she will ever see Abba again.

Instead, she focuses on the man in the next room and the sister lying in her bed and the baby sheltered in her womb. They are her family now. She should not waste time yearning for a man who is long gone. Her Ima and Abba are gone. This is all she has left. After pulling the shirt over her body, she caresses her stomach slowly, gently, and marvels at the fact that, with Eli's departure from her life came another person to love—someone who deserves it far more and is perfect in every way. She does not often give much thought to this baby's father. It is her child and her child only. The father has no precedence. And despite Ziva's worries about her potential shortcomings as a parent, she can guarantee one thing. She will love her child unconditionally and infinitely, and she will remind her child of his or her mother's love every single day of its existence, starting now.

"I love you," she whispers to her still-flat abdomen, "always, my baby, always."

…

_The night was dark, moonless, and cloudy, but none of that mattered because Ziva was looking at the sky. Finally, after nearly three weeks, she had the chance to be outside. She inhaled deeply, taking in and savoring the fresh air. _

_But the air did not taste of freedom as she expected. No, it was the flavor of bondage even more so than the air enclosed within that terrible warehouse. Because now, standing outside in the open air and dark, covered night, escape from this life was within her grasp and she was so horribly powerless to take it. She had never felt more trapped than she did when there was nothing between her and freedom but her father's orders._

_And she could not disobey her father._

_Watching her tail, she disappeared into the shadows of the buildings. This was the red light district of Be'er Sheva and the place was decorated with drug deals and prostitutes and litter. She did her best to blend in as she made her way to the pre-determined drop point, zig-zagging so as to make sure she was not being followed. _

_Finally, she reached the drop point. It was an old, abandoned restaurant with boarded up windows, now owned by, unbeknownst to the locals, Mossad. She entered through the back door and made her way to the dusty kitchen where she slid one of the cabinets that rested against the wall over, revealing a grey safe built into the wall. She entered the combination which she had committed to memory as if her life depended on it (which it did) and pulled the pen and pad of paper out from inside. Her back against the wall, she slid down to rest on the floor, beginning to write._

"_Apparent leader of underage prostitution ring—man named Kameel al'Masri. Right hand man—Harim Jabar. Eight other girls, some older than eighteen. Clients are mostly wealthy men, probably businessmen." _

_Ashamedly, this was all that she knew. The pain of her weekly violation and her essential quarantine in the West wing of the warehouse had prevented her from doing too much digging. She hoped that the next time she visited the drop site, which she had agreed to do monthly, she would have more information for Mossad to use. After all, the sooner she got the information Mossad needed to take down the terrorist cell the sooner she could be out of there._

But not Lila,_ a little voice in her head reminded her, _not Esther and Gavriela and Rebekah and Ariela and fourteen-year-old Eliana whose parents were killed in a rocket strike when she was eight.

_For the other girls, this nightmare had no end, and Ziva could not help but feel a surge of guilt. As she stood and placed the legal pad and pen back in the safe, however, she reminded herself to take solace in the fact that what she was doing was helping them. Once she gave Mossad enough information, they could formulate a better picture of what they were really dealing with and would bring down the relatively small organization. Then she could find a way to help the other girls get the treatment and care that they needed._

_As she closed the safe for the first of what was to be many times, she knew it might be a long while before this dream was fulfilled._

…

She is woken by a soft mumbling. Judging by the small amount of light she could see even though her eyelids, it was very early morning.

"I wish you could have tried it," Tali is whispering, "it tasted so good. I didn't know pumpkins tasted good. I thought they tasted like squash. I never liked squash, but my _ima,_ your _savta_ always made me eat it anyway. Your _ima_ won't make you do that, though, she doesn't like squash either. But she likes pumpkin pie, like me. So you probably will like it, too." Her sister's voice comes from a little below her where Tali's head is resting on her right shoulder. The smaller girl is snuggled up against her side, Tali's right leg draped over both of her sister's. Ziva feels a gentle hand on her stomach.

"Who are you talking to?" Ziva mumbles, her voice thick with sleep. Her eyelids flutter open.

"My niece or nephew. Speaking of that, when do I get to find out which? I want to know!"

Ziva smiles at the thought of her little sister speaking to her unborn baby while she sleeps. "A few months, I think."

"Which one do you want? A boy or a girl?"

Ziva sighs, rubbing circles on Tali's back. "I think a girl. I do not know how to take care of a baby, but because of you I think it would be better if I had a girl."

Tali grins. "A girl would be so cute. I bet she will look just like you."

This gets Ziva thinking about something that she has not exactly pondered much before. _Will_ her baby look like its mother… or will it take after its father? She is not even sure it matters, in the end. She does not know what its father looks like, so the point is null.

"I'm so excited, Ziva! I won't have to wait too long, will I? I want to meet her!"

"I believe I'm due around the beginning to middle of July."

"That seems so far away! I can't wait that long!" Tali pouts, and Ziva just chuckles.

"You're really looking forward to being an aunt, huh?"

"More than anything! I love babies!"

"It's a good thing, then. I'm going to need your help a lot," Ziva warns her, but Tali is not phased. The idea only seems to make her more excited.

A baby. The mere prospect is almost overwhelming. What makes her think she can be a good mother?

_Tali,_ insists that voice in her head,_ Tali is proof. You helped raise that girl, and look at her now. You will be an amazing mother—you practically already are one._

Ziva can't help but think that the encouraging voice sounds remarkably like Tony.

_A/N: I'm so glad that you all seemed to love the last chapter! I absolutely adored writing it. Just out of curiosity, did anyone get the Sesame Street reference I threw in there? Bert and Ernie? Anyone? No? Okay._

_Thanks so much to __**Tivagirl, prince-bishop, dvd123, DD2, pirate-princess1, sonckad, Liraeyn, NCIS Ziva DiNozzo, ilavsyous,**__ and especially especially especially __**Cameron-sarah **__for the wonderful reviews and encouragement! I love you people to death. I got more reviews on the last chapter than any other! Hope it lasts (I rely a shameful amount on the feedback of my readers)._

_Also- if you like my stuff, I tried my hand and an audiofic the other day. Just go to youtube and type in "Imagine NCIS audiofic" and it should pop up. _


	14. Chapter 14

"Abby wasn't kidding, you know."

Ziva looks to her left at the man in the driver's seat. "About what?"

"She really likes Tali. She wants me to ask you if it's okay if she takes Tali one day, maybe after school, and shows her around the lab?" Tony suggests, eyeing Ziva carefully as they pulled up to a red light.

Ziva hesitates. "Abby's lab… it is safe, yes?"

"I promise she hides anything even remotely dangerous before kids visit. She does tours of her lab sometimes for schools. Trust me, it's safe. Plus, Tali's a smart girl."

"That is true," she muses.

"Ziva, I understand if you don't want her to go. But it seems like she and Abby really hit it off, and she really looked like she wanted to."

"I did not say that I would not let her go," she reminds him, but he just shrugs.

"Yeah, but your eyes don't shut up. You're worried."

"She is my responsibility. Forgive me if I am paranoid_… sometimes_." On one hand, Ziva really wants Tali to go. She likes Abby and she knows that Tali will not get into trouble. But sending her sister alone to school is hard enough. After all she has lost, she sometimes wonders how long she has with her sister. The universe is sadistic like that, at least when it comes to Ziva's life. "I cannot risk losing her."

Tony frowns, his eyes on the road. "Ziva, she'll be at the Navy Yard, surrounded by armed military members and trained agents. I don't know what you think, but that sounds pretty safe to me."

Ziva sighs, caving. "How about the day after tomorrow, Monday? Tali's still on Thanksgiving Break. If Abby isn't too busy maybe we could swing by around lunchtime?"

"I think Abby would love that," he agrees as they pull up in front of the complex. He put the car in park, but Ziva does not move to unbuckle herself. She remains silent for a second, staring straight ahead, before turning to him and speaking.

"Thank you."

Tony just shrugs. "No problem, your complex is on the way back from the diner—"

"Not for the ride. Well, yes, thank you for the ride. I appreciate that… But that is not what I meant. I meant thank you… for everything." Ziva looks at him with pure honesty shining in her eyes, and she can tell from the surprise on his face that he understands what he is looking at. He is looking at _Ziva_, her walls down as she expressed her gratitude. It took a lot for her to be able to do such a thing, but Tony deserves such bare honesty.

"Just being a good friend," Tony replies, trying to brush it off. Neither of them is very fond of serious moments, but Ziva knows this is necessary.

"I mean… thank you for _being_my friend. I do not know why you would want to be, but thank you."

"I told you before, Ziva. You fascinate me," he answers, shrugging.

"I do not know how you manage to classify _emotionally dysfunctional _as fascinating."

Tony frowns. "Come on, you're not emotionally dysfunctional. You're just… guarded. And I'm sure you have a good reason for it, whatever it is."

Ziva just looks at him, studying the honesty in his eyes. She does not know what she has done to deserve such a person in her life.

"Thank you," she repeats, before her guard slams back up again—keeping it down like that requires energy—and she unbuckles her seatbelt. "Should I expect you tomorrow?"

"Of course," he replies, his grin once again illuminating his face. Apparently such honesty is difficult for him to maintain, as well. Maybe that is why they get along so well—a mutual agreement that heavy topics are to be avoided as best they can. She knows she's not the only one with walls.

"_Ziva, will you teach me Hebrew?"_

_Ziva looked up from her book, her gaze falling on Lila. They had just finished dinner, and the curtain between their two rooms was pulled back in a mutual attempt to feel less alone. The silent company as they passed the time was, to some degree, comforting. Ziva was glad that Lila was here—it was a welcome distraction from what she knew was coming tonight. Her breakfast this morning had been served with a side of baby blue lace._

"_If you would like," Ziva agreed. _

"_It's just that I feel like it would be so much easier… like everything would be so much less complicated," Lila explained, but it was unnecessary. Ziva understood._

"_I think that is a great idea," she commented, "When do you want to start?"_

_Lila looked up, pursing her lips. "Whenever you would like. But I should warn you before we start… I'm not very good with languages. I moved to Be'er Sheva two months before coming here, where I've been for…" she trailed off, frowning, "…two years? I've still picked up on hardly any Hebrew."_

"_It will be okay," Ziva promised, but her focus shifted. "Two years? You were my age when you came here?"_

_Lila's face fell, her eyes becoming cloudy. "Yes," she replied, looking away._

"_You could leave, you know. There are no guards. We can walk out of here whenever we want."_

"_It is not that simple," Lile answered, the sheets balling in her fist._

"_You could be free! You do not have to live like this—"_

"_You don't understand!" Lila snapped, her face contorted in pain. "We cannot leave! We're addicted to their __**fucking drug,**__ Ziva. It's not birth control at all, it's opium, and I'm a junkie! Of course," she added on afterthought, "opium causes fertility issues. So I guess in it's own twisted, ironic way… Look, Ziva. You're already addicted to it, too. We all are. It hurts to stay but it will hurt to leave, too! Here we get shelter and food and those damn drugs for a relatively small price! Out there… I'd be whoring myself out every single night to be getting this. I hate it here but I'd hate it out there too. You should understand that. You haven't left either!"_

_Ziva sighed, but before she could respond, she heard the door to the East wing swing open and crash against the wall behind it. Her head whipped towards the source of the noise and both she and Lila sprung from their beds, peeking out the front curtains. What Ziva saw made her blood run cold. Harim, eyes angry and determined and lustful, was marching down the aisle, his head looking left and right furiously. Ziva held her breath as she saw him tear open the curtain of the fourth room on his left, the side opposite of her. He wasted not a second in grabbing the arm of the girl within and dragging her out, flinging her to the ground violently. A collective gasp rang out from the spectators as fourteen year old Eliana let out a cry as her young body collided violently with the concrete ground. By now, all of the other girls were standing in front of their rooms, watching with bated breath._

"_You look young and ripe," he growled, his voice slurred voice predatory. "You'll do."_

_The blood in Ziva's veins begun to boil. No. No, this was not right. Harim, disgusting, muscly, alcoholic Harim, was not a client. He helped run this business. He had no right to do this, none._

_But then again, when does one ever have the right to violently rape a fourteen year old?_

_Even though Tali was only nine, she could not help but think of her little sister as she watched the scene before her. Protectiveness surged through her in the form of adrenaline, and she sprung into action._

"_You get your __**filthy hands**__ away from her," Ziva growled as she ran up and kicked him as hard as she could in the stomach. He had been hunched over Eliana, practically on top of her, and Ziva's blow sent him toppling to the left. Snarling in anger, he managed to stand back up. He assumed a fighting stance, and upon seeing this, so did Ziva. Eliana, frightened and shaking, scooted herself as far back as possible._

"_Oh, you want to fight, habibi?" he provoked, a grin spreading across his face._

"_You leave her alone and we won't have to."_

"_You and I both know I'm going to get what I want either way. Don't do something you're going to regret," he warned, his tone dangerous._

_Ziva took this as an invitation, and feigned to her right before hitting him square in the nose from the left. He had not been expecting this angle of attack, and staggered backwards. He had terrible vertigo, probably due to the alcohol he had no doubt consumed, and Ziva used this as an advantage, advancing on him and kicking him hard in the stomach once again. This time he recovered quicker and went to hit her. She dodged the blow and landed another of her own, aiming straight for his vulnerable spot. He howled in pain as her foot made contact with his groin. This only seemed to make him angrier, however, and she was surprised at how quickly he was able to come back at her. Not expecting it, the hit took her in the side of the head and she fell to the ground, her body producing a loud thump as she hit the floor. Blows began to rain down on her body, and all thought of fighting back fled from her. Pain erupted in rapid succession in different parts of her body—her gut, her shoulder, her arm, her jaw—and she could not concentrate hard enough to launch any sort of counterattack that would have been successful. He was so close that she could taste the alcohol in his breath The hits stopped for a split second and she opened her eyes just in time to see Lila fall to the floor at Harim's side. She must have tried to help Ziva, but been wildly unsuccessful._

"_Harim! Stop this __**instant!**__" rang out an authoritative voice. Ziva squinted and saw Kameel standing behind the man on top of her. "Our girls are off limits to you! Go find yourself another whore off the streets if you need to fuck. You can't assault __**them,**__ have you forgotten how the money is made?!" Kameel yelled, his face red with anger._

_Panting, Harim stood, giving Ziva one last kick in the stomach. She moaned involuntarily. Her entire body hurt. When the door slammed shut and the two men were gone, she instantly heard and felt the other girls at her side._

"_Ziva, come on, open your eyes," Esther urged, tapping her cheek lightly. Ziva's eyes fluttered open to find Esther and Lila kneeling beside her. _

"_Come on, Ziva. Let's get you back to your room," Lila encouraged, sliding her arm under the beaten girl's back. She tried to lift her, but Ziva felt the muscles strain and nothing happened. Sensing her plight, a couple of the other girls aided Lila in lifting Ziva. Soon, her back left the ground and Ziva's limp, bloody body was being carried back to her small room. She bit back moans as what felt like a cracked rib was jostled._

_They laid her down on her bed stood back, giving her a little bit of space. _

"_I'm so sorry."_

_Ziva looked over to find that Eliana had maneuvered her way through the other girls to stand at her savior's bedside. The younger girl placed her hand gently on top of the back of Ziva's hand._

_Ziva turned her hand over and grasped Eliana's giving it a weak squeeze. "It's not your fault," she assured her in a pained voice._

"_But if I hadn't—"_

"_It is not your fault," Ziva reiterated. Eliana nodded._

"_Thank you. So much," she expressed, her voice dripping with gratitude. Ziva felt a surge of pride. It had come at a high cost, but she had saved a young girl from a violent, public assault. _

"_You're welcome," Ziva replied sincerely, meaning every word._

_The other girls, after a pointed look from Lila, began to file out. Eventually it was only the two friends left in the room._

"_I need to shower," Ziva told her._

"_Ziva, you're hurt—"_

"_Shower. Please. I have a client. I cannot… I cannot show up like this," she insisted, her tone clearly expressing that she was not to be argued with. Lila did anyhow._

"_You're injured. You can't take a client!"_

"_Well I do not exactly have a choice," Ziva hissed as she poked at the bruise that had already begun to form on her abdomen. Lila could not argue with that. So, against her will, she gently helped Ziva back out of bed and looped the injured girl's arm over her shoulders for support. They delicately and slowly made their way out of the East wing and into the large bathroom where the communal showers were located. Privacy was something that was not found in this place (even in their own living space, they were only separated by mere curtains) and the showers were open. Knowing that she wouldn't be able to do it herself, Ziva allowed Lila to help remove her jeans and t-shirt. She almost collapsed a couple of times out of pain and exhaustion._

_How did Kameel expect her to work tonight?_

_The water was soothing against her injuries. Lila, who had stripped down to her underclothes to help Ziva, scrubbed gently at her skin to rid it of the blood staining it. Ziva barely had enough energy to remain standing, so she let Lila do all of the work. She caught sight of her friend scrubbing her own face as well, wiping off the blood from the corner of her mouth from where Harim had struck her. As soon as they were both clean, Lila shut the water off and wrapped Ziva in a thin black towel, drying her carefully. Ziva bit back the moans of pain when she accidentally pressed too hard on a bruise, but was not able to keep the hiss from escaping her mouth when her cracked rib was once again jostled._

"_Sorry," Lila muttered, wrapping a towel around her own body as well. "Come on, let's get you back to bed."_

_Ziva did not argue, but there was a nagging feeling in her mind of something she should be remembering. The pain and exhaustion had clouded her mind so much that she could barely think. It was only once Lila had tucked her back in under her blankets and she caught sight of the blue lingerie sitting on her nightstand that she remembered._

"_No, Lila, I need to get up and put makeup on, I have a client…" Ziva resisted as Lila smoothed her hair over her pillow. The older girl just shook her head, stood from the bed, and grabbed the outfit off of the table. The towel around her fell to the ground and she pulled the baby blue top over her head, doing the same with the bottoms. Ziva just watched, speechless._

"_No, you don't," Lila replied, giving her a kind and meaningful smile._

"_Stop, you can't do that, I will not let you!" Ziva protested, her eyes wide._

"_You're injured. You've got a broken rib and you can hardly move. You're exhausted. You are not working tonight."_

_Ziva looked up at Lila, whose eyes shone with compassion and bravery. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I do not know how I can ever make this up to you…"_

"_Just get better," Lila ordered, leaning over and running her hand down Ziva's swollen cheek. "Sleep tight, Ziva."_

_And with that, she disappeared into the hallway, her head held high._

…

Excited is an understatement when it comes to describing Tali that Monday morning. Ziva wakes up to her sister jostling her arm. At first her mind registers the urgency as a threat, and she sits straight up in bed, eyes flitting around the room in panic.

"What?!"

"I get to go see Abby today! Get up! No more sleeping!"

"Tali, you nearly gave me a heart attack! Don't scare me like that!" Ziva scolds, falling back down on to the bed. Tali, who is sitting on the bed to her right, begins to jump up and down.

"Don't lay back down, it's time to get up!" Tali exclaims. When Ziva does not budge, she turns to more desperate measures. She places her hands on Ziva's right side and tries to push her off of the bed. Caught off guard, Ziva nearly falls to the floor with a plunk, and she gasps, catching herself.

"Tali!" she yells, "You can't do that! The baby!"

Tali instantly feels guilty. "I'm sorry. We used to do that all the time… I forgot." She looks away from her older sister, ashamed.

"You did not know, it's okay. A lot has changed. But…" A mischievous smile plays at the corner of Ziva's mouth and she leans across the bed. In one swift motion, she pushes Tali off of the bed and she lands with a screech and a plunk. "That doesn't mean I can't do it."

"You are evil," Tali growls, but Ziva can tell by the smile threatening her lips that she is joking.

Ziva just shrugs. "We are even now. Truce?"

"Fine. But only because I need you to get me to NCIS," Tali responds, folding her arms across her chest.

The two sisters go into the kitchen, pouring cereal for their breakfasts. By the time they finish, it is eleven o'clock—Ziva has gotten into the habit of sleeping shamefully late recently—and Tali scurries off to get changed. Ziva narrows her eyes as she sees her sister's dark hair in high ponytails and her body encased in a black shirt and dark cargo pants.

"You are not going to go all Abby on me, are you?" Ziva teases, tugging at one of her sister's ponytails.

"I won't, I promise."

"Good. No tattoos," she reminds her sister as they head towards the door. She places her cellphone in the pocket of her cargo pants and grabs her coat from the rack, putting it on over her form-fitting green shirt. Tali dons her own coat as well and they are off to the bus stop. They show up at NCIS five minutes before noon and she gives Tony a call, telling him that they have arrived. On a side note, the way his voice brightens when he hears her voice never ceases to amaze her.

"So this is NCIS?" Tali asks as they get on the elevator. Tony nods.

"Yep, pretty sweet, right? I'll have to show you where me and Gibbs and McGeek work sometime. But for now, Abby's got full custody of you, so we'll just have to deal with it."

The elevator opens into the basement and their ears were suddenly assaulted with loud music—the kind of thing her grandmother would refer to as "the Devil's music."

"Abby!" Tony calls, and she instantly whips around.

"Hi Tali, hi Ziva!" she greets, hitting a button on a remote that turned the volume of the music down considerably.

"What am I, chopped liver?" Tony complains, and Abby runs up and hugs him.

"Thank you so much for doing this, Tony, I've been looking forward to spending time with my mini scientist," Abby expresses.

"What is _choppedliver?_" Ziva asks, her brow furrowing.

"Well it's liver… chopped. I guess it must suck to be chopped liver or something, for them to make a saying out of it," Tony explains, shrugging. Ziva is no less confused.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Ziva replies.

"I should buy you a book of American sayings or something," Tony muses.

"Hey, they are difficult! They make no sense!"

"If you two are done playing grab-ass, then Tali and I have some science to be doing," Abby snips, practically shoving them out of the room.

"Be careful, Tali!" Ziva warns one last time before she is ushered out of the door.

"Don't worry, Ziva," Abby assures her, understanding her worry, "I won't let anything happen to her." Ziva offers her a small, grateful smile in response. The door shuts.

"Since you're here, why don't you come up to the break room with me? It's my lunch hour and I'm hungry," Tony offers as they get into the elevator.

Ziva, out of habit, frantically searches for an excuse, but she soon realizes that there is nothing she would rather spend the next hour doing. "I do not see why not," she agrees as the doors slide shut.

The smile that illuminates Tony's face when she accepts his invitation is all it takes for her to know that she made the right decision.

_A/N: Hope you enjoyed:) Please leave a review!_

_Thanks to __**Prince-bishop, NCIS Ziva DiNozzo, tivagirl, liraeyn, angelhaggis, roseshadow21, ilavsyous, zivaobsessed, dvd123, tivafeels, **__and as always __**cameronsarah, cameronsarah, and cameronsarah **__for the awesome reviews! You guys rock:) _


	15. Chapter 15

"You NCIS agents seem to be quite fond of orange."

Tony holds the door open for Ziva as they both enter the break room. He snorts. "I'm no fan. I want to meet the interior decorator who made _that_ decision."

"It is… lively. Better than grey," she shrugs in reply, thinking back to her time in Be'er Sheva and how much she missed bright colors that only ever seemed to appear to her in the form of lingerie.

"Yeah, I guess," he answers, pulling the chair out for her, a chivalrous smile on his face. She sits. "Hey, Ziva, watch and learn." He approaches the vending machine and delivers a well-placed blow. The metal holding a chocolate bar rescinds and the candy drops to the bottom of the machine. A triumphant smile lights up his face as he gathers his prize. "Been here only three months and I already figured out the vending machine. _That,_ Miss Regev, is talent."

"Stealing is talent?"

"Hey, if they didn't want us take it then it wouldn't be possible," he pointed out, sitting the candy in front of her.

"Twisted logic, Anthony," she comments, tearing open the plastic.

"But you'll eat it anyway," he smirks.

"I am pregnant. You do not put chocolate in front of a pregnant woman and expect her _not_ to eat it," she answers, her mouth upturning in an amused smile.

Tony grins evilly and reaches forward, trying to break a piece off for himself. Her "ninja reflexes" allowed her to pull away swiftly.

"Tony!" she protests.

"Come on, I did all the heavy lifting," he insists, holding his hand out.

"You punched the machine!"

"And it _hurt!_" he answers, exaggeratedly cradling his right hand against his chest. "I want to taste the fruits of my labor."

"You do not—Tony! Stop it! _My _chocolate!" she exclaims as he swipes for it again. She pulls it away in a heartbeat, laughing as he grabs at empty air.

He freezes, and her smile disappears.

"Did I say something?" she wonders, alarmed at the abrupt change in mood.

He shakes his head adamantly, his grin widening. "You laughed."

Ziva's eyes narrow and she looks down self-consciously. "Yes, I suppose I did," she muses, pensive. She looks back up at him. "I do not do that often, do I?"

"Hardly ever," he agrees. "You should laugh more often." It catches Ziva off guard.

"You know, Tali says the same thing," she admits.

"It's because it's true. Your laugh is very…" he begins to state, but trails off.

"Very what?"

Tony shrugs. "Very Ziva."

"What does _that _mean?" she inquires, curious.

"I can't explain it," he replies honestly.

"Do you know what else Tali says?"

Tony shakes his head. "Nope."

"She thinks that I am… happier… since I met you," Ziva informs him, and she sees his composure slip for a second. Hope, happiness, and self-accomplishment are present in his eyes for a minute before he pulls his walls back up.

"It's the DiNozzo charm. You can't resist. I'm pretty good at cheering people up," he smiles almost flirtatiously at her.

"No, _Abby_ is good at cheering people up. You do much more. You…"

"I what?"

Ziva sighs. "In Tali's own words, you are 'putting me back together.'"

"I wasn't aware you needed fixing," he answers smoothly, but the look Ziva shoots him is incredulous.

"That is kind, but cowshit."

"Bullshit," he corrects, a smirk on his face. She just rolls her eyes. She then breaks off a piece of chocolate, offering it to him.

"Peace offering?"

He gladly accepts and begins munching on the candy. "How do you think Tali's doing down there?" Tony questions, eager for a change in subject.

"She loves science and she loves Abby. I am sure she's having a wonderful time."

"You'll probably end up with Tali bringing home all kinds of weird goop. Most likely oobleck."

Ziva frowns in confusion. "Oobleck?"

"Yeah! Don't tell me you don't know what oobleck is!"

"No, sorry."

"Well it's this… goopy stuff. From Dr. Seuss. You know Dr. Seuss, right?" he asks, his eyes widened at the thought of her not knowing Theodore Geisel.

"Yes."

Tony sighs in relief. "Well there's this stuff, called oobleck. I'm not sure what it's made out of. I think it's cornstarch and water. But it's sort of a solid and sort of a liquid… It's really weird," he informs her, his face animated as usual. Ziva can't stop the smile that comes to her face (she realizes that that happens a lot when Tony is concerned).

"Tell you what," Ziva compromises, "I am fairly certain that we have cornstarch at the diner. Tonight…?"

Tony grins madly, catching her drift. He steals the last bit of her chocolate playfully. "I'm looking forward to it. You, Ziva, have been madly deprived."

She swipes at his hand, attempting to retrieve her candy. Tony pulls his hand back too quickly, however. "Yes, deprived of _chocolate_! You should not mess with a pregnant woman's chocolate if you want to live," she advises.

"Sort of like Rule 23," he muses.

"Rule 23?"

"Yeah. You know Gibbs' Rules? Well number twenty three is never mess with a marine's coffee if you want to live." Tony pops the candy into his mouth, visibly savoring it. She growls in exaggerated and playful frustration. He responds by getting up and smacking the machine once again, stealing another bar of chocolate. It flies through the air and she catches it.

"There. Happy now?"

She rips open the wrapper, popping a piece in her mouth. A smirk of satisfaction appears on her face.

"_Very._"

…

"Your English is really good. I wish _I _was that good at languages."

"Do you speak any other languages?" Tali asks, curious. Abby intrigues her, to say the least. She instantly took a liking to the woman.

"Well, yes. ASL," Abby replies, her gaze not moving from Tali's ankle and the henna applicator in her hand.

"ASL?" Tali asks as she studies Abby's work.

"American Sign Language. My parents were deaf," Abby answers, "Gibbs knows it too. It comes in handy when messing with Tony."

"How long have you known him? Tony, I mean?"

Abby's brow furrows, her gaze still fixated on her artwork. "Three months or so, I think. Your sister's a lucky girl."

"You and Tony aren't…?"

"_No!_ I mean I love Tony and all, but I can't picture him… like that."

"Tim, then?"

Abby's blush tells her all she needs to know. "We dated last month. It didn't work out."

"I'm sorry," Tali apologizes.

"Hey, don't apologize," Abby replies. "So what are you doing in DC?"

Tali clears her throat uncomfortably. "Um, Israel can get pretty violent. Ziva didn't want me exposed to that," she replies, lying smoothly.

"I understand. Tony told me Ari was Mossad, it makes sense."

Tali's eyes go wide. "Um… he… he did?"

Abby looks at her inquisitively before looking back to her work. "Was he not supposed to?"

"I did not know Tony knew. Ari does not talk about it," Tali admits.

Abby just shrugs. "Understandable too. _Now…_" she trails off, setting the henna applicator on the table and looking up from her work, "…we're going to wrap this around your ankle. You can take it off in the morning and then peel off the henna. The ink will be in your skin. And _voila!_"

"Thank you!"

"You planning on telling Ziva when she comes down?"

"No, I'll show her in the morning," Tali responds.

"Alright then. Guess what it's time for now?!" Abby exclaims as Tali wraps the cloth around her ankle.

"What?"

"_Slime."_

…

"I _completely_ called this," Tony smirks as he gazes in to the lab.

"Yes. Yes you did," Ziva agrees, staring wide eyed at the mess that was Abby's lab.

"Mother of _Goop!_ Jeez, Abby, what'd you do?"

"It is not goop, Tony," Tali corrects, smiling broadly, "it is _slime._ And it is _fun._"

"The entire table's covered!" Tony exclaims and he and Ziva tentatively advance further into the lab.

"Well slime isn't fun unless you make great buckets full of it!"

"Gus the Janitor's gonna have a hell of a time with this," Tony chuckles. Ziva punches him lightly in the arm. "Oh, right, sorry. Gus is gonna have a_ heck_ of a time with this."

"Don't worry, I'll clean it up. And plus I made Tali wear an apron. Her clothes are perfectly fine," Abby promises.

"Did you guys have a fun time?" Ziva asks, directing the question at both Abby and her sister.

"A _fun time?_ Tali and I like are cloned copies! Well, except, that would imply that our DNA is the same, and it's not, we look totally different but we have the same—nevermind."

"Abby showed me around the lab and demonstrated some stuff. Then we did the diet coke in mentos thing, which was _awesome_!"

"I'm glad you had a fun time," Ziva tells Tali.

"How about you? Did you and Tony have a fun time?" she questions, sending Ziva a pointed look. Ziva's eyes widen.

"Yes. We did," Tony answers for her, his signature crooked smile appearing on his face. "I can drive you two home. I know how much you hate the bus," he offers.

"That is kind of you, but your lunch hour is nearly over already and you have done quite a lot already—"

"I don't mind," Tony insists, "and we don't have a case so Gibbs can't get on my case too much. It's just paperwork."

"Please, Ziva? I do not like the bus," Tali implores in Hebrew. Ziva nods in acceptance.

"Alright. Thank you, Tony. I might have to reimburse you for gas money soon. You seem to cart me around a lot," she muses.

"Just home from work and the occasional odd job," he replies. "Bye, Abs, thanks."

"Bye, Tony. And I'll see you around, Mini Me," Abby bids farewell, wrapping Tali in a bear hug.

"Thanks for everything!"

…

_Ziva waited up for Lila that night. Sleeping was made impossible by both her physical pain and her guilt. Lila was on the other side of the warehouse, in Ziva's place, doing some disgusting, pedophilic man. She lay atop the bed, her nerves on end._

_The door to the East wing creaked and Ziva's eyes snapped open. The curtain between their rooms was still open, and Ziva was able to make out the outline of a figure standing at the entrance to Lila's room. Stifling a groan at the pain that shot through her body, she reached out to her right and flicked the lamp on. Lila squinted into the sudden light._

"_I thought you would be asleep," she remarked, entering their conjoined room. _

"_After what you have done for me, the least I can do is wait up for you," Ziva responded, attempting to prop herself up against the plywood back wall. Lila rushed forward._

"_No, no, no, lie down. You're hurt," she protested, taking Ziva's shoulders in her hands and easing her back down onto the thin mattress. _

"_So are you!" Ziva insisted as Lila tucked the covers in under her body._

"_Harim hardly hit me, and the client… Well, you get used to it," Lila promised, shrugging off Ziva's concern. Ziva sighed._

"_I cannot tell you how… what is the word… grateful… I am for your kindness. You really did not have to do this for me."_

"_Yes I did," Lila replied, and Ziva could tell from the tone of her voice not to argue._

_Lila went back to her own bed and began to remove the lingerie, eager to return to her comforting, modest clothing. Ziva had not meant to stare, but she caught sight of something on Lila's legs and hips that made her gasp._

"_Dear God, Lila," Ziva whimpered, guilt and pain surging through her body as she gazed in horror at the finger-shaped bruises forming on the older girl's thighs and pelvic bone. Lila whipped around as she pulled her shirt over her head._

"_What?!" she exclaimed, panicked at first._

"_Bruises…"_

_Lila just shrugged. "He liked it rough."_

_Ziva's eyes closed in defeat and pain. "I am so sorry," she whispered, her fists clenching at her side._

_Lila tugged her sweatpants on over her legs and approached the bed on which Ziva lay. She ran a hand over the unbruised left side of the injured girl's face. Ziva's eyes fluttered open briefly._

"_It's not your fault. Go to sleep now," she urged, before she flicked the light off and they were engulfed in darkness._

…

Ziva sits at the dinner table, pushing her food with a fork. It's a little past five o'clock, and she has to leave for the bus stop in twenty minutes. Ari sits across from her, studying her with his intense glare.

"How was today?" he asks.

Ziva raises her eyebrows. "You seem to have your worrying in check," she observes. He shrugs.

"I'm trying. You didn't answer my question."

"It was good. Tali had a fun time with Abby. They made slime and made soda explode," she fills him in.

"What did you do?"

"I had lunch with Tony."

She chuckles humorlessly as she sees his hand clench into a fist. "And how did that go?" The question is forced.

She sighs. "At least you're trying."

Ari is silent for a moment. "Ziva, stop playing with your food and eat it," he commands, seemingly randomly.

Ziva looks up in surprise and sets her fork down on her plate. "What are you, my mother?"

"No. I am your concerned older brother. You do not eat enough."

"I eat plenty," she objects, her glare dangerous.

"You eat just enough to sustain yourself," he objects, "when you should be eating for _two!_"

Ziva looks away. "I have not thought about that."

"Eat the food, Ziva, please. You need to be healthy. If not for you then for your baby," he implores.

Ziva frowns. She has eaten half of what she would have eaten three years ago, and cannot stomach another bite. This is bad, and she knows that, but she is _full._

"I am not hungry," she answers sheepishly.

"You need to eat anyway," he insists, her voice firm and commanding. Her eyes narrow.

"In case you didn't know, Ari, I wasn't exactly treated all that well in Be'er Sheva," she quipped. "They didn't exactly start up a chorus of _Be Our Guest_ when I got there. They fed me enough to keep my body appealing. That was it."

Anger fills Ari's eyes. "_Bastards,"_ he seethed, his fists clenched.

Ziva's eyes go wide, "Ari, it's okay—"

"No! _No!_ It's _not_ okay!" he storms, rising violently from his chair. He seems ten times bigger with his anger.

"Please, calm down—"

"Those _goddamn sons of bitches_! I _told_ you not to go! I told you! I knew this would happen, I _let_ this happen! "

"Ari, lower your voice, Tali will hear," she hisses, but she knows that this outburst has been a long time in coming, and that once he has started all attempts to get him to calm down will be futile.

"How could Eli do that?! Who did he think he was?! I should never have let this happen, I should have taken you and run!" Ari is pacing around the room, every step deliberate and furious. Ziva flinches involuntarily when his fist makes contact with the wall, leaving a dent. "_Those goddamn motherfuckers!"_

Having received at least some form of physical release, his fury begins to gradually dissipate. Ziva cautiously walks over to him, placing a gentle and reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"I'll try to eat more, okay?"

He nods, staring at her with a stern expression on his face. "Sorry," is all the apology he offers. She gives his hand a gentle squeeze.

"The past is the past. I am trying to leave it there. You should, too."

…

Ziva's eyes flutter open the next morning. Looking to the right, she sees the rays of early-morning sunlight filtering through the window. They land on an empty half of the bed. Her first instinct is to panic, but she quickly hears the water running in the bathroom and her fears are abolished.

Tali emerges from the bathroom a few minutes later, a towel wrapped around her body and wet hair framing her face.

"Good morning," she chirps. Ziva sits up and moves her legs to hang over the edge of the bed.

"Good morning to you, too," Ziva replies.

"How was work last night?"

"Good. Tony and I made some goop," she answers, a reminiscent smile on her face.

"Goop? Like slime?"

"Well it's actually called oo—" Ziva stops mid sentence, "Tali, what is that?" she asks, her eyes going wide as her gaze zeros in on Tali's ankle.

A grin spreads across Tali's face as she extends her left leg and rests her foot next to Ziva on the bed. "Relax, it's henna," Tali soothes her. Ziva nods.

"I know. I recognize the color… Abby did this yesterday, yes?"

"Mmmhmm. I wanted to surprise you."

"It is a very pretty flower," Ziva observes, offering Tali a soft smile.

"It's a _Ziva._"

Ziva freezes, looking down from Tali's face to the tattoo and back to Tali.

"A… Ziva?"

"Yes. You know, the flower?"

"Yes," she replies, her voice coated with emotion, "I do know. Thank you."

"You're the most important thing in my life. I figured I should commemorate you, even if it's only here for two weeks or so," Tali shrugs. Ziva stands and pulls her little sister into a hug, clinging to her in an almost urgent manner.

"I love you so much," she whispers. Tears form in Tali's eyes.

"I love you, too. But, um… Ziva, my towel's slipping."

Ziva pulls back quickly. "Right. Sorry. You should get dressed for school," Ziva prompts. She leaves Tali then, walking out to the kitchen.

Today feels like a pancakes day.


	16. Chapter 16

A few nights later, Ari comes home from work and Ziva can instantly tell something is wrong. There is a storm in his eyes. He barely meets her gaze as he walks past her, past the kitchen, and into his room.

"Is something wrong with Ari?" Tali asks, looking up from the table where she is doing her homework. Ziva shakes her head.

"I don't know, but I'll go find out. Keep doing your homework."

When she goes into his room, she finds him sitting on the edge of his bed with elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands.

"What is it?" Ziva inquires, trying her very hardest to keep her panic from her voice. She approaches the bed and sinks down next to him. He raises his head and his wide, disbelieving eyes meet hers.

"I've been laid off," he replies in a voice that carries no small amount of fear.

Ziva exhales sharply, her shoulders slumping. Her fists clench and she looks away, trying to process what this means for them.

"Why?" she manages to ask.

"The law firm lost the contract with one of their clients, a Saudi Arabian company. These are hard times and they laid a bunch of people off. I was a recent hire and they have no more need for an Arabic translator," he explains monotonously.

Ziva takes a deep breath and looks up at him. "It's not your fault," she promises.

"It doesn't matter whose fault it is. What matters is that our only means of income now is _your_ minimum wage job, which you're going to have to quit in a few months time! We need to pay taxes and bills and pay for food and pay Bashan back—"

"Bashan made it very clear that we are to pay him back when we _can,_" Ziva corrects.

"It doesn't change the fact that I'm out of work! Now, at best, I'll be able to find a job paying minimum wage. That won't be enough. And then the baby!"

Ziva inhales deeply, shakily. "Ari—"

"I promised I'd take care of you and Tali! How can I do that if I can't even put food on the table?" he erupts, standing from the bed and beginning to pace back and forth across his room.

"You can find another job," she assures him from her spot on the bed.

"Yes but the question is, _will it be enough?_"

"I'll take on an extra shift at the diner," Ziva offers, "It will keep us afloat until you can find work."

Ari stops pacing, turning to her. "It still won't be enough."

"It's better than nothing!" she insists.

He plops back down on the bed, defeated. "I'm so sorry, Ziva."

"This was not under your control."

"What do we tell Tali?"

"The truth."

"She is twelve. We shouldn't burden her with money troubles!" Ari protests.

"She's cleverer than you give her credit for. She'll know. She knows that we depend on your income. It won't take her long to piece it together, even if we don't tell her ourselves," Ziva informs him. Ari goes silent, staring blankly at the wall. She takes his hand and squeezes it. "It will be okay. Don't you dare feel like a failure. You are a good brother to us both. Things will work out."

He looks at her, and determination shining in his gaze now. "I will go looking for work tomorrow morning."

At this, Ziva knows it _will_ be okay. When Ari gets that look in his eye, nothing can stop him from getting what he wants.

…

_The next morning, another skimpy outfit was delivered. This time, however, it was intended for Lila. _

"_Let me take this one for you," Ziva insisted, appalled by the thought of Lila having to work two nights in a row._

"_No way. You are no better off than you were last night," Lila replied, shoving a piece of bread in her mouth._

_Ziva sighed, knowing she was right. "Fine. But I owe you one."_

_They passed the day in a simple, easy way. Ziva had begun to teach Lila Hebrew, and Gavriela—who was Lila's other neighbor—had overheard them. Gavriela had always wanted to be a teacher, and was much more patient than Ziva was. They worked well together, and Lila, contrary to what she might have believed, was a good learner._

_That night, Ziva had every intention of staying up until Lila returned. It was not long after she left, however, that her eyelids drooped and she found it nearly impossible to stay awake. She slept straight through until late morning._

_Days passed uneventfully. Ziva began to heal, and she was well enough a week later to take her next client. It was horrible, as always, and when Ziva returned she found solace in Lila's arms, which were always wide open. Lila improved in her Hebrew rather quickly, and soon she was able to have simple conversations with Ziva. It was still the basics, and deviating from this earned Ziva a confused stare, but Lila was improving and it gave them something to look forward to. They both found that having a purpose, a goal, made enduring life in this place so much easier. All of the girls contributed in some way to helping Lila learn her second language. They would speak to her slowly, pointing and using their hands to help get their message across. Lila's education became the mission of every girl there._

_It was weeks before anything happened. _

_Ziva stood outside of the room that she had come to despise, taking deep breaths and re-convincing herself, like she did every week in this exact same spot, that the mission was worth it. And every week it took every ounce of her self-discipline and obedience to not take off running and never look back, but she always managed to gather the courage to open that door and face the man lying on the bed. _

_And she would regret it every single time._

_He was younger this time, at least. He wore a suit, as most of them did, and was probably in his early thirties. A lustful smile spread across his face as he caught sight of her nearly-naked body. She advanced on the bed, her hips swinging sexily. _

_It disgusted her to play along, it really did. It made her so ashamed. But she was only human, dammit, and it hurt so much less to go along with what they wanted… to not only submit to it, but to contribute. It was debasing and horrible but she knew it was the least painful way. She remembered the words of the Mossad Officer who had briefed her on her mission. "__Do not put so much emotion behind sex. It, like your body, is just another asset that you can use to your advantage." She had truly, at the time, believed she would be able to do it. She believed she would be able to set aside her emotions and use sex like the other female Mossad Agents did—as a weapon, a tool, a means to an end._

_But dammit, she was wrong, dead wrong. She was sixteen years old, for heaven's sake. Even with her twisted and warped view of the world, thanks to Eli's near indoctrination of her into Mossad, she knows that a sixteen year old __**girl**__ should not be sent to whore herself off for information. The other girls here did what they did for food, shelter, drugs. Ziva did it for information. And what difference was there, really? She was still selling her body, and doing so on her father's orders did not make it right._

_Sometimes she wondered whether or not he knew that he was throwing his daughter to the wolves._

_The man that night tested every inch of Ziva's resolve to stay and finish the mission. She had been with men who liked it rough before, but this was different. He wanted her to be in pain, and he wanted her to like it._

"_Pain and pleasure are very similar things, Dearie. Sometimes the lines can become blurred. Here, I'll show you. Now, don't fidget. You'll enjoy this," he cooed in her ear as he pinned her down below him. His pants came off, and they were discarded onto the floor._

_His belt was not._

_Blows rained down on her, sharp pain erupting all over her body._

"_Come on, Dearie. Show me how much you like this," he growled deeply. _

_By then, she was accustomed to taking orders from them. Obedience always made it easier on her. So she complied, letting out a sensual moan, her entire being loathing herself for doing such a thing. She had grown accustomed to this feeling of self-hatred. There was not a moment that passed in the past few weeks that she did not hate herself for her shameful actions._

_The man seemed to get off on her apparent moans of pleasure. Grinning madly, he continued to hit her, harder this time. He tore the little clothing that she wore from her body, exposing her._

_What came next was textbook, really. Ziva let it happen, urging him on, knowing that the self-hatred she acquired from doing so was a fair price to pay for getting this disgusting man to finish quicker. When she felt his body seize up, she felt something akin to relief. It was almost over. Nails dug into her back and tore at the skin of her collarbone._

_There was a snapping sound, a sharp pain in the back of her neck, and Ziva nearly screamed in dismay. Her Magen David had been ripped from her neck, whether on purpose or on accident in his ecstasy she did not know. She did not care. She wanted it back._

_The man rolled off of her and she gasped, suddenly able to breathe so much easier. He stood, pulled his pants on, and headed for the door._

"_Wait! My necklace!" she called, panic obvious in her voice. She struggled to sit up. The man turned back to her and shrugged._

"_Sorry, Dearie, I don't have it. It must have fallen," he answered. "Thanks, by the way. Most girls aren't so cooperative."_

_Ziva cried out in protest of both his convoluted answer and his shameful words of "praise" as he walked out of the room and slammed the door. The physical pain which rendered her movements weak and uncoordinated was overshadowed only by the emotional agony she was in. Her neck was bare and empty._

_She stood as best she could from the bed, wobbling on her feet. She made no moves to cover herself—the nakedness of her breasts and crotch were nothing compared to the nakedness of her neck. The welts covering her body stung and burned as she moved around searching frantically and desperately. She tore the sheets from the bed and strained her eyes, searching for the gleam of the golden pennant. The light was low, however, and seeing was difficult as it was. Her breathing escalated, pure panic overcoming her. That necklace was her prized possession—her __**only**__ possession. It brought a small feeling of comfort to her just by reaching up and feeling it. It made her feel close to her home, to Shabbat dinners, to Tali… to her mother._

_And then it was gone._

_She dropped to the floor, moaning in pain as she did so, and felt around the floor. _

"_Please, please…" she begged to no one in particular. It was to no avail. Her fingers found nothing but hair ties and empty condom wrappers._

_A cynical voice in her head told her that she would never find it. The man probably stole it. Her searching would result in nothing._

_She snarled and ignored the pessimistic voice, resuming her search. She would not leave this room without her necklace._

_The door opened and Kameel stepped in. The dark room was illuminated by the hallway, casting wedge of light on Ziva's naked form, crawling around on the floor. He raised his eyebrows._

"_What are you doing?" He almost sounded amused. She opened her mouth and very nearly told him about the necklace, but caught herself. If he knew she had lost it, he might try to look for it himself. She did not want him pawning off her Magen David. She would look for it later._

"_Nothing. Go away. I was just leaving," she snapped, covering her breasts with her arm._

"_There is another client that will be here in a few minutes. Get dressed and get out of here," he ordered, slamming the door shut. _

_Ziva, her shoulders hanging in defeat, grabbed the lingerie lying at the foot of the bed and stood, wincing as she pulled it on and it rubbed against the angry red welts._

_Holding back tears, she opened the door and walked past Kameel and back to the East wing, not looking at him but feeling his disgusting eyes on her the whole way there._

…

"You're all dressed up," Ziva observes as Tali emerges from her room the next morning. It is picture day at Tali's school, and she is wearing her pink dress, nice shoes, and smile. She offers Ziva two hair ties.

"Yep! Will you do my hair?"

Ziva takes the two hair ties from her sister's hand and gestures to the chair in front of her. "Have a seat. What do you want me to do?"

"Two French braids," Tali orders, "like Abby does sometimes."

Ziva smirks and weaves her fingers through Tali's hair. She does not plan on telling Tali about Ari's unemployment until later tonight. Ruining the mood would be cruel and unnecessary. Her sister is, after all, still a child.

"You look very beautiful," Ziva observes after she finishes the braids.

"Thanks! I'm so excited. I love picture day," Tali chimes as she stands and grabs the form Ziva had signed the night before off of the dining room table. "Wait. Ziva, this isn't right. You didn't check the box that says we are ordering the wallet-sized ones, too."

Ziva frowns. "I did that on purpose."

"Why?! We always do that! And send them to Aunt Nettie and Uncle Ezra and Mr. Shmeil and Mrs. Chaim from nextdoor!"

Ziva sighs and sits down on the chair next to her sister, looking her in the eyes. "Tali, you need to understand something. I know it's hard, but we can't send pictures to anybody in Israel."

"Aunt Nettie isn't going to tell Abba where we are!" Tali insists. "Neither would Mr. Shmeil or Uncle Ezra or—"

"Tali," Ziva interrupts, grasping her sister's shoulders, "we cannot risk it. We cannot speak to any of them ever again."

The heartbroken look that appears on Tali's face nearly shatters Ziva. "Ever?" she asks, her voice cracking. Tears gather in her eyes.

It takes all of Ziva's strength to respond. "Ever," she confirms.

"But I miss them!" Tali protests.

"I know. I miss them, too," Ziva replies, her eyes sad, "But this is the way it has to be. I am _so sorry,_ Tali."

"I miss Israel! I miss home!" Tali cries, pulling away from Ziva's arms.

"I do, too."

"I miss Aunt Nettie and Uncle Ezra and Mr. Shmiel and Mrs. Chaim!"

"So do I."

"I miss Ima!"

Ziva sighs. "Yes, so do I."

"I miss _Abba!_"

A deep, heavy silence engulfs them as Ziva processes her angry and upset words. She swallows, trying to get rid of the lump in her throat.

Yes, of course Tali misses Eli. Tali, sweet, naïve Tali, was never hurt by him the way that Ziva and Ari were. Despite all of the things that she knows Eli did—faking Ziva's death among them—Tali cannot bring herself to reconcile the man she knew as her _Abba_ and the man her siblings described. She loves Eli.

"The bus is here. I'm going to school," Tali states tersely, standing and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "Goodbye."

In that moment, Ziva swears that everything feels like it's falling apart.

…

"Hi," Tony greets as he takes his place on the second barstool to the left. Ziva pours his beer and sits in in front of him.

"Hello."

"Sorry about yesterday," Tony apologizes. He called last night to inform Ziva that he would not be able to make it to the diner that night; they had a long, puzzling, important case.

"It is fine," she answers, and she's telling the truth. It was better that he was not there last night. Ziva had a lot of things to think about and sort through in her head.

"You okay?" he inquires. "You seem tense."

"Never better," she grinds out. Tony rolls his eyes.

"_Please._ I may not be the brightest guy you'll ever meet but I know bullshit when I see it."

Ziva sighs, hating that she feels obligated to tell him this. "Ari got laid off."

Tony stares at her for a second, contemplating what this means. "That's not good."

"No," she agrees, "it is not."

"What are you going to do?" he questions, tilting his head to the side. She sees legitimate concern on his face.

"I do not know," she replies lowly, rubbing her temples. "I am taking on another shift at the diner starting next week. Six in the morning until noon, plus this one."

Tony frowns. "That's ten hours. Ten hours of standing on your feet."

"Your mathematical prowess is astounding," she answers, her voice saturated with sarcasm.

"I'm just saying, pregnant women don't general do well with the whole _standing _thing after a while," he muses, taking a sip of his beer.

"Well I do not have much of an option! I have three people depending on my income now—four if you count my baby. I hardly take home enough to support _one person!_ Something has to be done!"

"Look, Ziva… Ari was a translator, right?"

"Yes," she responds cautiously. She has no idea where this is heading.

"What languages does he speak, besides English and Hebrew?"

"Arabic, French, Spanish, and Russian. Why?"

"_Because,_ I vaguely remember someone complaining that NCIS has a serious lack of translators," Tony answers, a small smile appearing on his face. Ziva's eyes widen, hopeful.

"You think you could get him a job at NCIS?"

"I'll see what I can do. No promises though."

"Wait. Ari is not an American Citizen. Do you not have to be a citizen to work for the government?" She knows she should not get her hopes up.

Tony grins triumphantly. "That's the awesome thing! Congress banned use of appropriated funds for the employment of non-citizens, but there are exceptions. A good amount of them."

"And these exceptions apply to Ari?" Ziva wonders, her eyes lighting up once again. She grips the countertop tightly.

"If Ari is a citizen of Israel, then yes!"

"Tony… that… that would be perfect. Thank you. _Thank you," _Ziva expresses, gratefulness coloring her tone.

"It's no problem. I'll see what I can do," he promises, flashing her that charming crooked smile of his. She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself. This does not mean that Ari is guaranteed a job by any measure. This is only a tiny sliver of hope.

But it's hope nonetheless, and Ziva has never wanted to hug Tony more than she does now.

_A/N: Hope you enjoyed! Sorry that this one was a little heavier. I know some people aren't too fond of that. Thank you so much to my amazing reviewers, __**Cameron-sarah, dvd123, tivagirl, pirate-princess1, kw, Nicole, prince-bishop, ilavsyous, **__and __**Angelhaggis**__!__Love you all! _


	17. Chapter 17

The door creaks as she opens it, and Ziva winces.

"Ziva?"

She was half hoping that Tali would be asleep by the time she returned. Telling Tali about Ari's unemployment was something she did not particularly want to do.

She pulls off her clothes and slides her father's shirt easily over her head before walking to the bathroom. When she finishes, she slithers into the bed next to her sister and wraps her arm around her.

"What's wrong?" Tali asks, and Ziva almost laughs. Of course Tali would pick up on this change in their behavior.

"You're too observant for your own good," Ziva mumbles.

"You didn't answer my question."

Ziva sighs. "You know how Ari's friend from Scotland helped him get the job at the law firm here?"

"Yes."

"Well, they told Ari yesterday that they have no more need for a translator," Ziva tries to explain.

"He got fired?" Tali questions, shocked.

"No, no, not fired. _Laid off._ Ari did nothing wrong."

"Then why would they get rid of him! He didn't do anything!" Tali exclaims.

"I know. But companies can only spend so much money… And the law firm was spending too much. To save their business they needed to get rid of a few people."

"That seems selfish to me," Tali pouts.

"Tali… It doesn't matter why they laid him off. What matters is that Ari is out of work. We need to be really careful at how we're spending our money."

"We already _are_ careful!"

Ziva sighs and strokes Tali's hair lovingly. "I know. But… the money Bashan lent us is almost gone. Our rent is due in a week. There are bills and taxes and plus we need to save money for the baby… This could not have come at a worse time."

"So what do we do?" Tali inquires, her voice strangely small. Ziva can hear the helplessness in her tone, and she recognizes it. That is how she feels right now, as well.

"_You_ do not do anything. I'm only telling you this because… I need you to understand why I have to take on an extra shift at the diner."

In the soft moonlight, Ziva sees Tali's eyes narrow. "When?"

"From six in the morning to noon."

"Everyday?"

"Everyday."

Tali looks as if she's about to cry. "But Ziva! I'll hardly ever see you!"

"Yes you will," Ziva assures her.

"No! I don't get home from school until three on weekdays. I only get to spend three hours with you, as it is! But I used to have almost all day with you on the weekends. Now it will only be six hours!" Tali protests, burying her face in Ziva's chest.

"Oh, Tali… I know it's hard. Please forgive me. I'm doing this for you." She tightens her arm around Tali's body, clutching her close.

"Maybe I should get a job, then," Tali muses.

"Tali, you can't."

"Yes I can! Everyone else is doing their part! Why can't I do mine?"

Ziva chuckles. "I think the law is you have to be fifteen to work."

Tali goes quiet. "Oh."

"I love you. Everything I do, it's because I love you."

"I just… there were two years where I thought you were dead. You have no idea… what that was like."

"Tell me," Ziva implores. It's some morbid curiosity that leads her to requesting this. How _did_ Tali respond to her death? She knows she did not respond well but the details were never shared with her.

"Abba came home one day. He said that the plane you were on crashed, and that you were dead. I… I didn't want to believe it, and neither did Ari. I asked to see you but he told me that the entire plane was burnt up in the desert."

"Did Eli seem… upset?"

Tali frowns. "I don't know. He has a weird way of grieving. I wasn't really paying attention to him."

"What happened after that?"

Tali shrugs. "Ari didn't believe that you were dead. It took a long time and a lot of convincing before he accepted that Abba was actually telling the truth about you. And even then I think he still suspected. But he became sort of withdrawn. He left for Edinburgh around five months later."

Ziva is almost afraid to ask the next question. "And you?"

"We had just lost Ima. I… I was still grieving her. Losing you…" she takes a deep breath, "it was the last straw."

Ziva does not like the sound of that. "The… last straw?"

"Yes. We had a funeral for you—no body, of course—and I… I broke down," Tali admits shyly. "It was the second funeral I'd been to in two weeks. If we were more traditional, and Abba had let us to sit Shiva for you and for Ima, then I think there would have been a time that I was sitting Shiva for two people at once. The two people that I… loved the most… died. They were there and then they weren't."

"Were you… okay?"

Tali shoots Ziva a look of derision. "No. I was not. I was depressed for… I don't know how long. Maybe a year."

Ziva's eyes widen. Tali is always so bubbly, so perky. She loves life. It is difficult to picture her baby sister _depressed._ Ari had not told her of this! "You mean you were sad, or… _clinically depressed?"_

"Well of course I was sad! But I the doctors told me it was depression. Abba had me see a therapist once a week and he put me on some kind of medicine."

Ziva doesn't think it's possible to hold Tali any tighter than she already is. "I am so, so sorry. I did not want to leave you, especially so soon after Ima's death. I… was not given a choice."

Tali sighs, relaxing into her sister's embrace. "I know."

"When did you stop taking the medication?"

"I was depressed for a while. But I think it was a year later before Abba got sick of it. He told me to suck it up. I had been sleeping in your bed every night since he told me about the plane crash. He told the therapist to start taking me off the medicine. He made me go to sleep in my own bed every night. But… I couldn't do it. I would sneak back into your room after Abba went to bed. I stopped the drugs after about a year… and I started healing. I still thought about you every day, and it always hurt. But I knew that you would want me to get on with my life. So I tried. For you." Tali is crying now, and Ziva is fighting tears. She hasn't cried since the first night in Be'er Sheva.

"I am so sorry. I never intended for this to happen. I didn't know he would fake my death…"

"It's not your fault. You're here now. Just promise me that you won't forget to spend time with me? I've spent too long missing you."

Ziva kisses the crown of Tali's head, cradling her lovingly. "I promise. I swear to you on my life that I will spend every moment I can with you."

"It's your turn now."

Ziva's mouth turns downward. "My turn?"

"Yes. I told you how I felt during those years. Now it's your turn to tell me," Tali explains.

"No. You do not need to hear that. Go to sleep," Ziva insists, her voice hard.

"But Ziva!"

"_No._ You are still a child."

"You don't have to be ashamed," Tali says, her voice gentle.

"It's not because I am ashamed, it's because it's not something I want you to hear. Not yet, anyway," Ziva explains. She understands Tali's curiosity, and she almost feels guilty for leaving her in the dark, but Tali already knows far too much about Ziva's time in Be'er Sheva. Twelve-year-old girls do not need to hear about how their sisters willingly went on a mission to pose as a prostitute. Twelve-year-old girls do not need to hear about how many men their sisters have been with. Twelve-year-old girls do not need to know what their sisters were thinking during their two year stay in a colorless warehouse, or about their sisters' almost-suicide.

"You promise you'll tell me eventually?"

Ziva nods, and she knows that she is lying. "Eventually. Go to sleep now. It's late."

She doesn't specify when she will regale the tale of those dreadful two and a half years, and she doesn't intend to. She had failed in protecting Tali in many ways already, but Tali still has her innocence and Ziva is not about to let it slip away.

…

_Lila looked up from the book her nose was buried in as the curtains pulled back. The only light in the entire East wing came from the lamp at her bedside, and it cast a soft glow on everything its light touched._

"_Oh, Ziva…" Lila trailed off, catching sight of her friend. Ziva's eyes were filled with pain, anger, and shame. Her hair was wild and disheveled, her skimpy clothing was in disarray, and her shoulders were slumped over in defeat. Lila opened her arms and gestured to the open space at her side. "Come here."_

_Ziva did not waste a second in crossing the space between the entrance and Lila's bed. When she sat down, the older girl grabbed a blanket, preparing to drape it over her shoulders._

"_Ziva…" Pity was obvious in Lila's voice as she spotted the red welts on Ziva's back. The younger shivered, and it was not because of cold. "You had a rough one, huh?" Lila muttered rhetorically. "I know this isn't going to help your situation, but if you're already addicted… maybe you should take that opium now, hmm? It will help."_

_Ziva shook her head no. As tempting as that sounded—numbness of both body and mind—she knew that she could not risk getting addicted to drugs. They lapsed into silence as Lila gently stroked Ziva's hair._

"_My necklace," Ziva muttered weakly, pathetically, into Lila's shoulder. "It's gone." The heartbreak was evident in her defeated tone._

"_The client stole it?"_

"_I do not know. But I cannot find it. I looked so hard, Lila… So hard." She felt as though she should be crying, but so many years of training and loss had left her eyes dry._

"_You'll find it," Lila assured her, and they both knew it was not the truth._

"_I will not. It was the last piece of home I had left… I am alone," Ziva voiced. Saying the words out loud made it seem all the more real. With the loss of her Magen David, it seemed as though she had lost the last tangible piece of her identity._

"_You have me," Lila promised._

"_It does not matter anymore."_

…

Tali's sleep is restless that night. Talking to Ziva about those dark two years of her life had brought up so many memories that she wished with all of her heart she could forget.

The terrible thing about nightmares is that they take the thing that their victims are most afraid of and turn it against them. The brain turns against itself, imagines the worst possible thing and makes it an unconscious reality.

At least that was how it seems to Tali when she wakes up, panting, from a recurring nightmare in which she saw her sister bleed out before her very eyes.

"Ziva," she rasps, tears coming to her eyes. Tali is tangled in the covers, sweaty and alert.

"Hmm?" Ziva moans, half asleep.

"Ziva," Tali repeats, relief spreading through her body at hearing her sister's mumbled voice. Her arms wrap around Ziva's torso and she clings to it for dear life.

Ziva is fully awake now, fear coursing through her veins at Tali's tight and desperate grip. "What is it?"

Tali looks up and her tearful eyes meet Ziva's. "Bad dream."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Ziva offers. Tali is silent, listening intently to the sound of her sister's beating heart. Ziva changes her question. "Do you get nightmares often?"

"Not as much as I used to," Tali admits, her voice soft. "I used to get this one a lot."

"It's a recurring dream? Of what?"

Tali's lip trembles and a tear falls down her cheek. "You," she admits, her voice muffled by the soft material of Ziva's shirt. "We're in the market. It's a pretty day, everything is beautiful. But then a man comes up to us and… he takes out a gun… and he shoots you in the chest."

"Oh, Tali…"

"And every time I know what's going to happen but I can't stop it! And I try to kneel down next to you to stop the bleeding but Abba is there and he's holding me back and he won't let me save you, he won't let me go to you! He says it's for the best and that you're dying and that there's nothing I can do! But I _know_ that he's lying, and I could have saved you, I could have…" she trails off, choking on a sob. Her petite frame, still one of a child, heaves and shakes and rattles. Ziva strokes her hand up and down Tali's back, trying to soothe the inconsolable girl in her arms. The images will not stop playing before the younger girl's eyes.

"Shh. I'm here now. It's okay."

"Tonight was d-different, though," Tali chokes out. "Abba always l-let me go after you'd d-died and I would h-hold your cold b-body. But t-tonight… there were men. A-and they came a-and they took y-your body away, and…"

She can't speak anymore. Emotion clouds her mind, her thoughts. She hasn't had this nightmare since Ziva was raised from the grave. Usually, she would wake from it panting and crying and there would be no one but the cold night and the empty bed to witness her plight. Tonight, though, tonight… Ziva is there. Breathing. Alive. Holding her.

It's more than she could ever hope for, and for once it is not tears of despair falling from her eyes.

_A/N: Thanks for reading! Sorry for a rather sad chapter. It will get better. Tiva to come! _

_To __**Liraeyn, prince-bishop, pirate-princess1, dvd123, TheRoseShadow21, angelhaggis, tivagirl, ilavsyous, NCIS Ziva Dinozzo, Cameron-sarah, **__and __**simsee:**__ Thank you all so much for the lovely reviews! Not too many people are reading this so really it's wonderful that so many of you are such avid reviewers! I am very lucky. __**Cameron-sarah:**__ thanks for being the best sounding board EVER!_


	18. Chapter 18

Tony's grin is wide as he puts his car into park next to the diner. He can hardly restrain himself from running—no, _skipping_—inside. As usual, there are only a few customers still there, stragglers sitting in booths and chatting amongst themselves. Ziva looks up when she hears the door open, and the corners of her mouth pull upwards. The feeling that shoots through him every time she smiles at him is indescribable. He loves knowing that his mere presence cheers her so.

"Guess what?" he declares, practically bouncing on his toes. Ziva's eyebrows raise and he can see her trying to suppress her assumptive excitement.

"What?"

Tony's hands slam down on the countertop in front of her and he leans in over it. "I talked to Human Resources. They agreed to meet with Ari for an interview!" he declares, pushing a small piece of paper with a date and time on it over to Ziva. She reads it with wide, amazed eyes.

The responding grin that overtakes her face is contagious. Her eyes fill with joy. "Thank you, Tony, _thank you,"_ she expresses, relief and gratitude obvious in her tone.

"Hey, no guarantees, though," he reminds her, hoping that she does not get too excited for nothing.

Her hands reach up and she grabs his off of the countertop in front of him, giving them a light but meaningful squeeze. "I know. But it is hope…" she shakes her head in wonder, "…and hope is such a beautiful thing. I know it is not for certain but I feel as though we should celebrate. Guinness?"

Tony has a hard time formulating a response, because her hands are gripping his in a touch that _she _initiated. "I, uh… Yeah. Definitely." He is sad to feel her touch leave him as she grabs a glass and pours a beer into it, their usual routine. She sits it down in front of him, and he can automatically see the change in her eyes. It is one that he recognizes from their conversation in the car—she is forcing her walls down, if only for a moment, to properly convey how she feels.

"This means the world to me, Tony. To Tali and Ari, too. Tali calls you a _malach."_

"A what?"

Ziva shakes her head. "Nevermind."

Tony reminds himself to look up the meaning of that word later. "Hey, well, you needed help and I could offer it. What kind of a knight in shining armor would I be if I didn't rescue the damsel in distress?"

"I am no 'damsel in distress,'" she replies, frowning a little, "and I never asked for you to be my knight."

Tony chuckles, "Well I doubted that, even in distress, these two damsels and their Mossad-trained brother would need a knight. Sure, you could have been okay without my help. But once in a while it's easier to have someone else do the heavy lifting. Lucky for you… I work out," he jokes, flexing his biceps playfully. Ziva scrunches her nose,.

"I have seen better," she jokes, shrugging. Tony is thrilled that she is playing along. She has opened up a lot in the last month, and he likes to think that he has helped. Remembering what she told him about Tali thinking he was healing her, he doesn't think it's too far off base.

"Well, the Probie does have pretty nice muscles," Tony replies jokingly, and Ziva rolls her eyes at him.

This entire situation has made Tony a nervous wreck. Ever since that day in the elevator, he's been planning out his next move with militaristic strategy and precision. It is a bit like walking on thin ice—he has to be extremely careful where he steps. It is something that has kept him up at night, wondering what he should do next. This relationship is something he does not want to forfeit, and he has tossed and turned in his bed countless times while his brain refused to stop planning. And his motivation behind all this?

That is the ironically amusing part: he does not know. Actually, yes, he does know, he knows _damn well_ why he's doing all this. However, it's not something he's prepared to admit to himself or to anyone else that asks. So he continues to bring her cheer, consistently making her day a little brighter, all in the hope that she will let him a little closer.

And with each step closer, he is forced to further analyze his motives. One of these days he's going to have to admit to himself that he's falling for her. He can't explain why he is, though, and until he can, it will stay locked up deep within him. Until he can explain it, neither of them is ready to hear it.

They talk for a half-hour more about idle, harmless things. Tony regales stories of Abby's bowling nuns (really, it is remarkable that someone so small could launch a bowling ball through the ceiling) and the new M.E.'s assistant (because really, the kid needs to learn when it's time to shut up) and even Tim's pranks (sure, Tony glued his fingers to his keyboard, but that's no grounds to retaliate by rigging his email account to send emails titled _Looking for Prostitutes in Your Area?_ to everyone in his contacts). Ziva, or at least it appears, is content to sit and listen to his tales. He gets the feeling that she does not have many stories of her own, though. Her life in America does not seem to be one full of interesting people and stories—present company excluded, of course. Asking her about her life in Israel is, as she has made it implicitly clear, off limits. That leaves him being the one telling all the stories, and he is fine with that, because sometimes, when he gets to the punch line, she smiles.

When closing time comes around, Ziva punches out and says a brief goodbye to the cooks in back. She speaks in Spanish to them due to their Latin American origin, and Tony can't help but feel a little impressed at her language skills.

"How many languages do _you_ speak?" he wonders, keeping her brother in mind.

Ziva shrugs as she exits through the door her holds open for her. She never objects to his chivalry, which he always half-expects. However, there is always something in her eyes that indicates that she is somewhat grateful for his politeness. "Five," she answers. "I never got around to learning Russian like Ari did."

"So, let me guess…" he muses as they stroll across the dark parking lot to his green car, "…Hebrew, obviously. English, even more obviously. Spanish, too. That leaves… Arabic?" When she nods, he continues. "And something else…"

"French," she replies, as they approach opposite sides of the car, "but my French and Spanish are my weakest. I am a little… busty?"

Tony nearly chokes on the air he is breathing, and he bursts out into an uncontrollable fit of laughter, leaning on the roof of the car for support.

"What?!" Ziva demands, sounding alarmed. Tony grins madly at her.

"Of all of the idiom slip ups I've ever heard from you," he says through his laughter, "_that_ was by far the most entertaining."

Ziva still looks baffled. "What did I say?"

"It's _rusty,_ Ziva," he chuckles, "which has nothing to do with _busty._"

"And busty means...?" she prompts, shooting him a pointed look from the other side of the car. Tony can feel his cheeks go a little red.

"A woman who is busty… has a large… bosom."

"Bosom?"

Tony sighs in frustration. He does not know how to explain this to her in the least-objectionable way possible. "Think Dolly Parton."

Ziva frowns. "Is that some kind of children's toy?"

"Chest, Ziva. It means… chest."

"Like a toy chest? Why is that funny? And why would it be called a… beu-sum?"

"Not a toy chest! A chest! As in the part of the body! _This…_" Tony gestures to his upper-torso, "…part."

Something clicks in Ziva's brain, and she barks a laugh. "So a busty woman has large breasts?"

Tony smirks at her forthrightness. "Yep."

"Why did you not just say so?"

He growls in playful annoyance and opens the door to the driver's seat. "Just get in the car," he sighs. He swears Ziva's smile is triumphant, and she wonders if she was not just playing with him this whole time.

Oh, well, at least she got a kick out of it.

…

"_Lila?"_

_Ziva was still in Lila's bed, the older girl's arms surrounding her protectively. They had both fallen silent a while ago, but Ziva interrupted it._

"_Yes?"_

"_I am sorry," she apologized, "I was rude before."_

"_You do not have to apologize."_

"_Yes, I do," Ziva insisted, "You were only trying to make me feel better by assuring me that I am not alone. I should not have responded the way I did."_

"_It is understandable," Lila promised, "I remember what it was like, to lose everything."_

"_There is nothing to my name anymore, Lila. If I were to stand up and leave right now… I would carry nothing with me. Nothing." Ziva was not able to fully explain to Lila the extent of her insecurities. Her loneliness stemmed from the feeling of alienation she had. It was alienation from her family, from Mossad, from __**herself.**__ She missed being Ziva David. Try as Lila might, she would never be able to offer the kind of friendship that Ziva longed for deep in her heart. She wanted the familiar kiss of her sister, the strong, guiding hand of her brother. She missed her mother's hugs (although she knew that she would never again experience one of those). She even missed her father's demanding presence. Her soul yearned to taste Aunt Nettie's matzo ball soup and to ride on the back of her uncle's beautiful horses._

_Ziva was homesick, and the loss of her necklace only seemed to further pronounce that fact. But it was still no excuse for brushing Lila off as she had done._

"_But I meant what I said, Ziva. When I was at the point you are at now, I had no one. I'm not about to let you have that, as well. I know it's not exactly what you want, but I'm here and I'll try my best to help you through this. It's what friends are for, right?"_

_Ziva felt a lump form in her throat and she twisted in Lila's arms, looking up at her. "Thank you. And I am here for you, as well, if you need it."_

_Lila offered her a soft smile and stroked her cheek in an almost sisterly way. "I know you are, and I appreciate that." Lying in Lila's embrace reminded her so much of how she and Tali used to be. Ziva had sometimes wondered what it felt like to be Tali—the little sister, the one being protected and comforted. Now she wondered if she was finally finding out._

"_Now go to sleep," Lila cooed. "Everything will be okay in the morning."_

_It was a lie, of course, but pretending that it was not helped Ziva drift off into a deep, much needed sleep._

…

"Will you come inside?" Ziva asks as he brings the vehicle to a stop in front of her building.

Tony shoots her a look of mild disbelief. "Really?"

"Only if you want to," she assures, not sure why exactly he is reacting in such a way.

"I mean, of course I want to come in, I just never thought you'd ask. It is late, and you're a pretty private person," he explains, rambling towards the end.

"I want you to be the one to tell Ari about the possible opening at NCIS," Ziva tells him.

"You haven't told him about it?"

"I did not want him to get his hopes up. It was only a possibility… I did not want to distract him with potentially false hope," she shrugs.

"Just out of curiosity… why exactly do you want me to do it?" he wonders.

"It will earn you more points on the Ari front if you tell him yourself," Ziva predicts. "I am tired of him being suspicious of you. Maybe this will help."

Tony smiles. "I'm cool with that. I'd rather that I was on his good side ASAP, anyhow. Not going to lie, your brother is pretty intimidating," he admits as they both step out of the car and into the early December night.

"The fearless _Very Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo_, intimidated by a man five years younger than him?" she teases as they enter the building.

"The entire Regev family intimidates me, actually. So, collectively, I think your ages add up to be many years older than me."

"I do not think that is how it works," Ziva muses. "And do you mean to tell me that you are afraid of _Tali?"_

They begin to mount the stairs. "Hey, she may be small, but she's too smart for her own good. She's a little firecracker," Tony defends. Ziva chuckles in agreement.

"Well I guess I should be grateful that we have not scared you off yet," she muses as they arrive in front of her apartment.

"Hey, I've got nerves of steel. It's gonna take a lot to scare _me_ off," he assures her, grinning pridefully.

Ziva inserts the key into the lock and the door swings open, revealing their apartment. Ari is sitting on the couch, armed with a highlighter as he browed through the job listings in the newspaper.

"Still nothing good, Ziva," he sighs heavily, not looking up, "I might have to take a minimum wage job until I can find something." Ziva can practically hear the stress seeping from his exhausted voice. It has been like this for a few days.

"Ari, put down the newspaper, there's something we need to tell you," Ziva demands.

"We?" Ari questions, but his inquiry is quickly answered with one quick glance upward. "Ah. Tony." He does not look thrilled. Ziva knows that he still is not completely comfortable with her alone in his car at night. Ari stands and makes his way over to them.

"It is actually Tony's news, not mine," Ziva amends. "Tony?" she prompts.

"I was talking to Ziva yesterday night, she told me about your situation. I went down to the Human Resources Department at NCIS today. It turns out we are in need of a translator. Your interview is at seven-forty tomorrow morning," Tony informs Ari, getting straight to the point.

Ziva can see that her brother is speechless. It is something that does not happen often, and she knows instantly that she made the right decision in having Tony tell Ari. This will definitely be a point or two in his favor.

"DiNozzo, I…" Ari trails off, unable to think of the right thing to say.

"Call me Tony," Tony insists. This time, Ari does not ignore it.

"_Tony…_ Thank you. This is… very kind of you."

When Tony responds with his signature grin, Ziva knows her brother's inherent suspicion of him will not last very long. Sooner or later, Ari _will_ trust him, just as Ziva does.

…

When Tony gets home that night, he goes straight to the computer. Pulling up his search bar, he does not hesitate before typing in the word that Ziva had said an hour ago in the diner.

"_Tali calls you a _malach._"_

It takes a couple of different spellings, but he eventually figures it out.

_Angel._

A/N: You people are amazing. Can I just hug you all? **Dvd123, NCIS Ziva DiNozzo, prince-bishop, TivaGirl, ilavsyous, Liraeyn, Ncisfan with Tivafever **(welcome!),** Cameron-sarah **(3)**, pirateprincess1, angelhaggis, **and **simsee**—thank you all from the bottom of my heart. I love getting feedback. You guys are amazing:) Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks!


	19. Chapter 19

There is a smile on Ziva's face when she slides into her bed that night. The covers are warm, shielding her from the chill of the December night. Heat radiates from her sister, who is lying opposite her.

"Was that Tony?" Tali wonders. Ziva starts at the sound of her voice.

"_Tali!_ You scared me! I thought you were asleep!"

"The front door closed a few minutes ago and woke me up."

"How did you know it was Tony?" Ziva inquires, raising her eyebrows. Tali rolls over onto her left side, facing Ziva.

"Come on. Who else would it be? I mean Ari and you aren't exactly social butterflies," she jokes. "So what did he say?"

"He… he got Ari a job interview at NCIS," Ziva answers, her voice exposing her disbelief. It is not as though she thinks that Tony himself is not capable of doing such a thing. However, after so long of being treated with as much dignity and respect as dirt, sometimes she has a difficult time wrapping her head around the fact that there are people in the world who will go out of their way to help others, especially when the aforementioned "others" is someone with as little to offer as her.

"Really?!" Tali's voice displays her excitement. "Does this mean you won't have to work extra?"

"I would not get _too_ excited. It's just an interview, there aren't any guarantees. But perhaps," Ziva responds. A part of her gets angry at herself for getting Tali's hopes up. Even if the government salary and Ziva's minimum wage would cover their expenses, they also owe a _great_ debt to Bashan. Not to mention the fact that her child will need diapers and food and clothing. Children are expensive. The more money they have saved, the better.

"Is he going to be a Very Special Agent like Tony?" Tali asks, her brown eyes filling with wonder.

Ziva smiles in amusement. "No, he'll be a translator."

"That's not very exciting," Tali pouts. Ziva can't help but laugh at her sister's expression. Sometimes she forgets how much of a child Tali can be.

"He won't be chasing people and getting in danger. But he'll still be helping to stop bad guys," Ziva assures her.

"Like the ones that hurt you?"

Ziva's heart nearly skips a beat at Tali's words. They were spoken with such innocence, but yet with so much intelligence. She reaches over and strokes Tali's head, petting her hair. "Yes, very much like them," she replies in a near whisper.

"It will be okay now, you'll see," Tali promises. "We're together and we're safe. The other stuff is just _se… sem… semant_…" she trails off, stumbling over the English word at the tip of her tongue. She spoke entirely in Hebrew, as they always do when with each other, except for that one word.

"_Semantics?"_ Ziva supplies, smirking a little. It is one of Tali's vocabulary words that she helped her study last night, and Ziva feels a surge of pride at how much effort her little sister is putting into furthering her English.

"Yes! The other stuff is _semantics," _Tali finishes, gleaming with accomplishment. "Plus, we have our malach_._ He will keep anything bad from happening."

"Yes," Ziva agrees, "Tony seems to be very good at helping us."

"How do you say malach in English?" Tali wonders, looking up at her sister expectantly.

Ziva leans over and places a kiss on Tali's cheek. "_Angel. Guardian angel,_" she informs her.

"Well HaShem doesn't send _guardian angels_ to people for nothing. So do not take him for granted," Tali warns.

"I don't!" Ziva protests. "Everyday I thank HaShem for how fortunate we are… and for bringing such blessings as Tony to us."

"Good. Because Tony is very special. He is a _Very Special Agent of HaShem,"_ Tali insists, and Ziva chuckles.

"Yes. Yes he is."

…

Ziva awakens at oh-five-hundred the next morning for the first time in what seems like years. The darkness outside and the bright red numbers on her clock throw her back to her training days, when her father required her awaken hours before the sun, mandating that she push her body to its limit in the moonlight. Sometimes she regrets how out of shape she has let herself become in the last few years. The years spent cooped up in that warehouse took a large toll on her physically. Even if she was not pregnant, she does not think that her body is capable of the same things that it was a mere three years ago.

She places a gentle kiss on Tali's forehead and rolls out of the bed, tucking the covers back in over her little sister. She gets dressed in the dark, then moves to the bathroom, making sure the door is shut before turning on the light. Luckily, the morning sickness that she experiences has become much less severe in the past few weeks and it gives her no trouble that morning. It does not take her long to get ready to leave—she is relatively low maintenance—and she is ready to leave fifteen minutes before she has to. Wandering idly to the kitchen to get something to eat, she notices light squeezing through the crack under Ari's door. She turns the knob and pushes the door open.

"What are you doing up?"

Ari looks up from his book. "Couldn't sleep."

"You are nervous?"

He sighs, looking at Ziva with an expression that is almost vulnerable. "There's a lot riding on this interview."

"You could find other jobs," she assures him.

"Yes but doing _what?_ Menial labor? This is a good position, and I _want_ it."

"So get it." She appeals to the part of her brother that refuses to take no for an answer.

"Our identities are fake. Our green cards are fake. _Ari Regev _is fake. I don't know how deep Bashan was able to get our covers… Will it stand to a government background check?" he wonders, thinking aloud. She can hear a hint of panic in his voice.

"Ari, Michael knew what he was doing. He knew we needed foolproof covers. He would have made sure that they're infallible."

"Yes, but at such short notice?"

"He undoubtedly has a lot of connections," Ziva points out.

"I know. I should not doubt him. He has given us no reason to. But…"

"You are afraid?" Ziva supplies. He frowns, shooting her a look of derision.

"I do not get _afraid._"

Ziva leans against the doorframe and crosses her arms over her chest. "It depends. You aren't afraid of guns or bullets or fist fights. But you're afraid of things that are bigger than you, beyond your control. You're afraid of things you can't solve with a simple brawl. You're afraid of Eli." She knows he would prefer that she did not do this—psychoanalysis was his specialty—but he needs to see himself more clearly. He cannot get these answers by staring a mirror.

"He's the _Deputy Director of Mossad._ If you think Bashan has connections, it's nothing compared to Eli. I'm surprised he hasn't found us yet, honestly," Ari muses.

"I am, too. But we shouldn't question it."

"Need I remind you what happened the last time you didn't question Eli?" Ari's words cut deeper than she cares to admit.

"Just do your best in the interview. You'll be fine. _We'll _be fine, whether you get this or not. But… try to get this, okay?" Her hand moves downward to touch her still visibly-flat abdomen. It seems that any thought of their money issues always brought her back to her baby.

Ari notices. "How's the little one doing?"

Ziva shrugs. "I have an appointment with the OB/GYN on Friday. I guess we'll find out then."

"Are you going to need a ride?"

"We'll figure it out when the time comes. Just concentrate on the interview. Maybe get some sleep, too. Oh, and can you handle making Tali breakfast? I'm usually there to do it, but…"

"Ziva, don't worry. I've got this under control."

"Forgive me. You're not exactly the domestic type. She likes whole wheat toast with the crust cut off. Oh, and cut it into two triangles, not rectangles, she hates that. Put butter on one side and grape jam on the other, but not too much jam, she doesn't like that either—"

"Ziva," Ari interrupts, "go to work. We'll be fine."

She exhales loudly and stands up straight, nodding curtly. "Fine. Good luck today. Kill it."

He smiles gently at her. "I will."

…

"_Ziva!"_

_Gentle but urgent hands ripped her from the clutches of a peaceful sleep. "Go 'way, Tali. 'M tired."_

"_Ziva! Wake up! There's something you need to see!" _

_That was not Tali's voice. Everything came back to her in a flash, and her eyes snapped open. Lila was standing above her, gripping her shoulders. "What is wrong?!"_

"_Nothing, nothing's wrong! But look! I found it!" Lila's voice was ecstatic, and at first it took Ziva a moment to register what she was seeing resting in the palm of Lila's hand. She sat straight up._

"_Oh my god…" Her eyes widened in shock and disbelief as the light from the lamp gleamed off of her golden star. "You found it…" she whispered and reached a tentative hand out, feeling as though she was reclaiming a piece of herself. The weight of the necklace was familiar in her fingertips and a warmth spread throughout her body. "I never thought I would see this again. Thank you," she expressed, gratefulness saturating her tone. _

_Lila smiled kindly. "I'm just glad you have it back."_

"_As am I. Where did you find it?"_

"_On the floor, in the corner. I almost missed it, it was hard to see," Lila admits._

_Ziva, however, frowns. "What were you doing on the floor?"_

"_He was a weird one," Lila shrugs. "Would you like me to put it back on?"_

"_Yes." Ziva handed the necklace back to the older girl turns slightly so her back was slightly to her. It soon was fastened around her neck, and Ziva sighed at the comforting feeling, her shoulder's slumping. She patted Lila's hand. "I cannot thank you enough."_

"_Really, no thanks needed. Just glad you have it back. Go to sleep now, okay? We can talk more in the morning."_

_Ziva nodded gently, lying back down on her cot. "Sleep well, Lila."_

"_You too."_

_She slept easily that night, her fingers wrapped around the pennant at her neck._

…

Tony hates paperwork, and it's a fact that nearly everybody in the building knows. Most of the time, he does everything he can to pawn it off on McGee, but this time it has backfired majorly.

"Come on, McGoo," Tony practically begs, "help a guy out."

"I won, fair and square." The stack of files lands on Tony's desk with a dull, resonating thud.

"I hate Mondays," Tony grumbles under his breath, clicking his pen and throwing open the first folder with a vengeance.

"I don't know, Tony, seems like a pretty good day to me," Tim grins, returning to his desk and reclining in his chair.

"Just go back to your self-help tapes, McGloat."

The work is boring, as usual, and Tony's mind drifts. Minutes tick by, papers shuffle, phones ring. His pen runs out of ink and he breaks it in half, sinking the two pieces in the trashcan across the bullpen one by one. It's as close as he comes to playing basketball anymore. Another pen is produced from his drawer and the writing commences once again.

"DiNozzo?"

His head snaps up, focusing on the man who has just disembarked the elevator with an escort at his side. At first he is surprised, but soon he remembers the interview and his pulse speeds up.

"Ari! How'd the interview go?" Tony stands from behind the desk and walks toward the edge of the bullpen.

"I got the job," Ari proclaims. "I start on Wednesday." Tony can see a mixture of relief and gratefulness in his usually hard eyes.

"Great! That's great! You told Ziva yet?"

"No, I will tell her after her shift is over. I just came up to thank you again."

Tony waves his hand dismissively. "You don't need to thank me, it wasn't any trouble." It really was not all that labor-intensive. All he had to do was swing by HR on the way out from work and ask about a possible job opening. But, hey, let Ari think what he wants. It's a point in his favor.

"I judged you too quickly, DiNozzo. I am sorry about that." Ari's apology catches him off guard—he has never seemed like the apologizing type; Tony got the impression he was like Gibbs in that respect.

"You're just doing your job, protecting your family. You didn't know me. Can't blame you for being… wary."

"I am glad you see it that way. But I want to thank you, properly, for this. This Sunday is the first night of Hannukah. My siblings and I are hardly observant Jews, and this is one of the lesser holidays, even, but Tali is insisting that we do _something._ If you're not busy, you should join us," Ari invites.

"I'm not Jewish, I'm pretty sure that's breaking some kind of unspoken rule…" Tony trails off, unsure of how to respond. Does Ziva know he's being invited? He does not want to encroach on their family traditions.

Ari scoffs. "Please! My family is not American but you let us celebrate Thanksgiving with you."

"That's different, American isn't a religion."

"Being Jewish for my family seems to be more of a cultural commitment than a religious one, anyhow. Trust me, no one is going to mind you celebrating with us," Ari assures him.

"Wait, doesn't Ziva have to work?"

"I am going to try to convince her to take the day off, and if that's successful I'll see about her taking Sundays off in general. She works too much."

"That we can both agree on," Tony nods. "You cleared this with Ziva?"

"Well…" Ari's head tilts to the side and his face scrunches up. "Not exactly. But that's irrelevant, she'll hardly mind."

"And Tali?"

Ari waves his hand dismissively. "She worships the ground you walk on. So are you in? It is the least we can do."

It is, in truth, not a hard decision for Tony to make. "I'd love to crash your party."

"Good. It will be nice to have another guy there. I love my sisters, but there is only so much I can take," Ari admits, shrugging. Tony notices him freeze for a second, his gaze drifting the left. "Your boss is staring me down."

Tony does not have to look to understand. "Yeah, he'll do that," he chuckles.

"He is not fond of me," Ari states. Tony shrugs.

"I may have _briefly_ mentioned that you are Mossad-trained. There's no love lost between him and Mossad, let me tell you that."

"Believe me, DiNozzo," Ari sighs, slapping him on the shoulder. "There is none here either." He turned to leave. "See you around."

"Yep. Congrats on the job!"

"All you, DiNozzo. All you."

_A/N: Firstly: WOW. I am blown away by the response I have been getting lately. You guys make my day, really, every single one of you! Secondly: I apologize sincerely that this took so long. I've had half of it written for a while, but I hit a block after that. Forgive me?_

_My sincerest thanks to my lovely reviewers: __**Tivagirl, prince-bishop, Cameron-sarah, Theroseshadow21, angelhaggis, dvd123, SpecialAgentAlx, Pirate-princess1, Nicole, Simsee, Liraeyn, NCIS Ziva Dinozzo, Ilavsyous, an anon,**__ and __**tiva-feels**__! There are more of you than ever and I am so grateful for that! You are, after all, the people I'm writing this for._


	20. Chapter 20

She goes alone to the OB/GYN appointment, something which gnaws at her in the deep confines of her brain. Usually the baby's paternity does not bother her, but a part of her wonders what it's like to become pregnant by a man that you love, a man that will go with you to the ultrasound appointments, that will rub your swelling belly, that will run out at three in the morning to get the ingredients for your latest food craving. A deep sadness fills her when she realizes that she will probably never know, and she spends the next minute trying to convince herself that being loved by Tali and Ari and her baby will be enough to sustain her for the rest of her horribly awry life.

Hospitals smell of bleach and sadness and death, or at least that has been her perception since her mother died. She still remembers waiting in the white-walled, white-floored, white-ceiling room, Tali's hand gripping hers like a lifeline, as they awaited news. The news had been of the negative sort—Isn't it always?—and then there's a calling hours and a funeral and discussion of a Shiva that Ziva hardly gets to sit.

She makes her way down the sterilized corridors, doing her best to find the office she is looking for. Finally, she comes to a halt, opens the door, and enters a small waiting room. When she gives her name to the woman in the window with the scrutinizing eyes, Ziva falters. Luckily, she catches herself before the surname _David_ can slip out.

Ten minutes of waiting and half an issue of _People_ magazine later, the woman calls out Ziva's name.

"The doctor will see you now. Though there, first door on the right," she monotones. Ziva stands and walks with all the confidence she can muster towards the indicated door. She pushes it open with little effort and enters a small hallway. On the right side there is a door with a little sign that says _Elena Kendiss, M.D._ She knocks.

"Come in."

Ziva enters and finds the doctor sitting at a great mahogany desk, spectacles on her face. Dr. Kendiss is middle aged, with brown hair that is just beginning to show signs of going grey. Small laugh lines have formed on her face, and it is easy for Ziva to trust her. She oozes a motherly nature that Ziva is immediately drawn to.

"Ziva, please, sit down," the doctor greets, gesturing towards the chair on the side of the desk opposite her. She stands and extends her hand; Ziva walks forward and shakes it.

"It is nice to meet you, Dr. Kendiss," she says, feeling very much like a small child as she takes a seat.

"So, Ziva. We're just going to go over a few things before we begin, for paperwork's sake. You're how old?"

Ziva wonders if she's being judged. A nineteen year old girl comes alone to her ultrasound appointment? She knows how it must look, but honestly, there is not a bone in her body that cares. "Nineteen."

"I see. I assume this is your first pregnancy?"

"Y—" Ziva begins, but the word is caught before she can complete it. Memories flash through her brain of a night of blood and pain and terror, and she knows she must be honest. "No."

Kendiss does not look phased. "Did you carry to term?"

Ziva shakes her head, her eyes focusing on her lap. "I miscarried."

"How long ago was this?"

This question is pondered, but Ziva cannot come up with an accurate date or even month. "Maybe a year ago."

"I see. Was there a reason pinpointed for this other than genetics? Stress? Malnutrition?" Kendiss inquires, her hand poised with a pen in it, ready to write.

Ziva falters. "I, uh… Did not have access to proper medical… attention. But I think it was stress-related, maybe malnutrition-related, probably also… externally… related."

The doctor's eyebrows raise, and Ziva knows she is interested. "What do you mean _externally?"_

Ziva grinds her teeth as she tries to think of a way to phrase it. "It is possible to… lose a baby… because of… external forces, yes? Like… injuries?"

"Yes, Ziva, it is. Someone hurt you, and you lost your baby?"

"Yes," Ziva replies, her voice low and somewhat timid. Luckily, Kendiss hides any sort of emotion she feels about this very well. "Is this a problem?"

Kendiss sighs. "It very well could be. It's unlikely that the loss of your first pregnancy was due to simple genetic error. Hopefully the ultrasound will tell us more, but we should monitor you carefully. I don't want to take any risks."

Ziva nods solemnly, taking in this new development and wrapping her arms around her belly protectively.

"Ziva, when you go home tonight, will you be safe? Will your _baby_ be safe?" Kendiss asks, concern coloring her voice. Ziva's head snaps up; the question catches her off guard. Hundreds of different replies fly through her conscious, but finally she settles for a simple word.

"Yes."

Kendiss seems satisfied with this answer, which leaves Ziva wondering if perhaps she really has gotten that transparent with her emotions. The doctor stands and walks around from behind her desk.

"If you follow me, we'll get started. I will take your weight and height then we'll get on with the ultrasound."

Ziva follows the woman in the white coat out the door and into the room across the hall. She cooperates when the woman measures her height and slips off her shoes and steps onto the scale without protest. Kendiss fiddles with the weights on the top of the scale, and Ziva sees something her eyes that makes her wonder how bad it is.

"You are underweight," Kendiss informs her candidly as she jots a number down in a file. Ziva nods, thinking of her fight not too long ago with Ari.

"I know."

She is taken to another room, then, where she is prompted to lay down on a table of sorts, unbutton her pants, and roll up her shirt. The orders are obeyed without complaint, but a part of Ziva sighs in relief that her doctor did not happen to be male. Some memories should not be pulled to the surface.

This is the first time that Ziva has had a ultrasound, so she is not expecting the cold gel that is spread across her abdomen. Kendiss pulls out a wand-like instrument and proceeds to use it to explore Ziva's only mildly swollen belly. A grainy, black and white image appears on a computer screen two feet away from Ziva's head.

Ziva does not know what to make of it.

For a moment she is unable to speak. She opens her mouth a few times, trying to voice her thoughts, but coherent forms. The only thing that comes out is a small, awed, "_Oh."_

"Yeah, it's really something, isn't it? Well, this is your baby. Your information says you conceived around the middle of September, so that makes him or her around eleven weeks. You're weeks away from your third trimester. I am not going to try to tell you the gender of the baby at this point, it has a high potential for being inaccurate, mostly because of its size. You should know that I am nowhere near satisfied with how big it is. You are underweight, and as a result your baby is not growing as it should."

Ziva's heart leaps into her throat, and surprisingly enough this is the thing that clears away whatever was blocking her speech. "My baby is unhealthy?" The familiar feeling of panic spreads thought her body.

"_You_ are unhealthy, so yes, your baby is, too. He or she is too small. It's very important that you get the nutrients both of you need. Are you taking prenatal vitamins?"

"Yes, for about a month."

"Good. That will help. But I am going to need you to eat more. You're eating for two now. Also, how much time to you spend on your feet?"

Ziva frowns. "I work at a diner from oh six to noon and then from eighteen-hundred to twenty-two hundred hours."

Kendiss raises her eyebrows. "Is there any way you can cut down your shifts?"

"We need the money," Ziva replies, shrugging. There was a reason she took on that extra shift. It is necessary.

"I understand. But I would be much more satisfied with this if you were not on your feet so much. Your body is weak, Ziva. It might be from exhaustion, or from not eating enough, or just from hormones. It's most likely a combination of the three. But we need you to be in a low-stress environment where you can take it easy and eat all of the food you and the baby need. Your previous miscarriage worries me. I know you said that your previous miscarriage was partly due to injuries, as well, and hopefully this time around we can avoid that factor, but I also want to lower the other factors as much as possible. I think you're capable of carrying this baby to term, Ziva. But you need to take any and all measures possible to keep your baby safe. Think you can do that?"

Ziva was never one for lectures, but she nods her consent anyhow. It is obvious that Kendiss is right. "For my baby? Yes. Of course I can do that."

"Good. I'm glad to hear it. I'd like to see you once every two weeks, at least until the baby has caught up to the normal growth curve. If you head back to my office we can make our next appointment."

Ziva follows the doctor out the door, across the hall, and back into the first room with the desk. Her feet are steady but her mind is elsewhere.

How can she possible be expected to take care of this baby? It is not even born yet, and she is already failing it! Doing anything right by her child anytime in the future, near or far, seems laughable. However, this does not mean that Ziva will not try everything she possibly can to protect it. She has already failed one child of hers, and she is not about to let it happen again. This was why she left. This was why she went against direct orders and why she and her siblings left everything they knew and loved behind. It was all for the baby.

She would not let this be in vain.

…

"You can not be serious."

"Of course I'm serious!" Tony protests, shoving a chip in his mouth. Ari raises his eyebrows.

"American football? No. I can think of a thousand other sports that fit the bill better than your fancy-pants little game."

"_Fancy pants?"_ McGee snorts derisively at Ari's words.

"With all your helmets and padding and tights. Real men play rugby," Ari states. McGee had suggested that they invite Ari to go to lunch with them at the Mexican restaurant on their lunch break, since it was the latter's first week at NCIS.

"Football's plenty dangerous, thank you!" Tony insists, jabbing his finger at the man sitting across from him.

Ari's response is playfully sardonic. "Oh, but God forbid one of the players falls, scratches himself a little, gets a boo-boo! Then those medics come out with their stretchers and take him away."

"Nothing wrong with taking care of yourself," McGee points out as he scoops salsa onto his chip.

"I knew a man at Edinburgh who had half of his testicles ripped off during a game. He got right back up and finished the game." Tony' chokes on the food in his mouth.

"Ugh. Thanks for the visual."

"I hurt just thinking about it," McGee muses, shivering slightly, before changing the topic. Lunch was no time to be thinking about torn genitals. "I didn't know you went to Edinburgh."

Tony senses Ari's instant discomfort at McGee's innocent curiosity. To Ari's credit, though, he does not ignore the question. "I was studying to become a doctor."

"What made you stop?" McGee wonders.

"It's a… complicated story; you really wouldn't want to hear it."

"Did you quit Mossad to become a doctor?" Tony inquires, thinking that he has guessed it. After all, it makes sense. Ari has admitted to only being _trained_ by Mossad—perhaps he quit to pursue another career? McGee, however, chimes in before Ari can respond.

"You were Mossad?" he questions, eyes wide. Ari fidgets uncomfortably.

"For a little while, yes," he confirms.

"Did you hear about the new Director?"

_That_ catches Ari's attention. His head, which has previously been tilted downwards as he shoveled salsa onto his chip, snaps upwards. His gaze is steely as he studies the Probie.

"There is a new Director?" Tony can see that Ari is trying very hard to keep emotion from being evident in his voice and eyes. He sees the younger man's hands twitch, a sure sign that he is nervous.

"Yeah, you didn't hear?"

"We do not have a television."

"Well the old one resigned, I think. There's all this controversy over why, but he says he's too old for the job. Some people buy it, some don't."

Ari, at least to Tony's eyes, seems disinterested with the details of the previous Director's resignation of power. "And the new one?"

"I'm pretty sure it was his Deputy Director who took over. Some guy named… what was it?" McGee turns to Tony for help.

"Don't look at me," Tony shrugs. "You know I don't pay that much attention to these things."

"David. Eli David," Ari supplies, his voice firm. His hands have balled into fists. Tension almost radiates off of him.

"You know the guy?" McGee questions, seeming fascinated.

Ari's eyes darken, and Tony wonders how long it would take for his glare to incinerate its victims. "We have met."

"And?"

_If looks could kill. _"I hate the bastard's guts." His voice is only a degree away from being classified as a snarl.

"Jeez, Ari, you're gonna burn the whole place down with that glare," Tony jokes, trying to diffuse the situation, if only by a little. If Ari hears him, he does not acknowledge it.

"Do you remember who they said the new Deputy Director is?"

McGee frowns, narrowing his eyes a little in concentration. "I feel like it started with a 'B…'"

"Bodnar? Ilan Bodnar?"

"Yeah, I think so. You know him?"

Ari just leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. "David's protégé. His personal little lap dog. The guy worships the ground David walks on, fancies himself a _son_ to him—the son that David always wanted." His body language clearly displays bitterness to the situation.

"Guess it's a good thing the guy didn't reproduce then, if he's that much of a jackass," Tony muses.

Ari gives a snort of derision. "Oh, David reproduced alright. The man couldn't keep it in his pants. He knocked up two different women."

"Do his kids agree with you? About their father?" McGee inquires.

Ari's voice goes stone cold. "Israel is a dangerous place. Eli David had no qualms about making sacrifices for his country, even his own flesh and blood. The David children are long gone."

Tony takes a second for this to sink in, and instantly is filled with anger. He is beginning to understand Ari's hatred towards this man. Seeing the sadness in the eyes of the man across from him, instantly wonders just how close Ari is to this situation. "Did you know them well?"

"We were acquainted," Ari shrugs, "I particularly liked his oldest son. A rather dashing fellow, he was."

The small twinkle that Tony sees in Ari's eye makes him wonder if he's missing out on some sort of private joke.

Ari is distracted for the rest of the lunch hour, something which does not escape the notice of Tony nor McGee. When the elevator opens on the second floor, Ari thanks them for inviting him to lunch and steps out. Just as the doors slide closed, Tony sees him pull his phone out of his pocket and hit speed dial one.

"I think he's calling Ziva," Tony muses.

"And?"

"_And,_ probie, he's obviously upset about this situation."

"Wouldn't you be?" McGee points out as the elevator halts. The doors part and Tony exits the car immediately. McGee follows. "Do you think there's something he's not telling us?"

"Well yeah, McOblivious, he was Mossad. There's always going to be something he's not telling us."

"Maybe we just don't need to know."

Tony's chair squeaks in protest as he plops down on it. "Yeah. Maybe. But it still bothers me."

"Any particular reason why?"

Tony frowns. Of course there's a reason why—Ziva. Doesn't it always come back to her, anyhow? The fact of the matter is, there's a lot Tony doesn't know about the Regevs' past. In his mind, withholding information and lying are linked characteristics, and there is no doubt in his mind that Mossad taught Ari how to do both. But since Ziva's slip up, he also knows that she has been trained in much the same way as her brother. He trusts her, but Ari's past and her past are undeniably linked. Ari is hiding something, so, logically, Ziva is too. And yes, everyone is entitled to his or her own secrets, but he hates _not knowing._ When he first met her, he instantly knew that her closed off, distant demeanor meant that, underneath, she was hiding terrible pain. He's worked with victims and soldiers and _Gibbs_ long enough to understand that. So it was curiosity that drove him to her, an unexplained need to _heal_ her with his jokes and movie references and DiNozzo Charisma. Perhaps it was—_is—_naïve, but he feels like he can show her that people aren't all bad. But he's been completely genuine with her, and is it wrong to want her to show him the same courtesy? He doesn't necessarily care if she does not fill him in on every aspect of her past. However, he _does_ care if she's lying to him, and he's convinced that she is capable of such. The thought of Ziva lying to him puts a twist in his gut, and he is coming to realize that he cares far too much about her. His inability to care any less sends the commitment-fearing part of himself scurrying for cover.

He just wants her to trust him enough to fill him in on at least the basics. Has he not proven himself worthy of such?

"Tony?" McGee prompts.

Tony blinks the train of thought away. "Sorry, what's the question?"

"Why does it bother you so much? You don't think Ziva's keeping secrets, do you?"

There is not an easy way to answer that question. "I don't really know, Probie. Maybe."

"You think it's something important?"

"Seemed pretty important to me, the way Ari ran off to call her like that." There is a hint of aggravation in his tone.

"She's entitled to a few secrets, Tony, we all are. There are things in our past that we don't necessarily want to bring up," McGee points out. Tony knows he has a valid point.

"Yeah… But then why the urgency? If it's all in the past then fine, leave the skeletons in the closet, but it seems to me like it's still pretty important. Ari looked pretty concerned and he called her the first chance he got."

McGee sighs and swivels his chair ninety degrees to face the other agent. "You're going to make me say it, aren't you?"

Tony's brow furrows. "Say what?"

McGee crosses his arms across his chest and leans backwards, his chair groaning. "That maybe Ari and Ziva aren't exactly who they say they are."

"You mean criminals," Tony deadpans.

"Maybe. Or maybe they just pissed off the wrong people. Come on, don't tell me you haven't even considered it."

"You think maybe they're running from Mossad?" Tony wonders, reluctantly intrigued. He does not want to think of Ziva as the guilty party when her eyes, in those moments of lowered guard, so clearly construe how badly she's been hurt.

"It would explain why Ari got so upset about the new Director. Maybe this David guy's going to make it hard for them to stay off the radar or something. But I don't really think they're criminals." McGee's words bring little comfort.

"Me neither."

"Are you going to ask Ziva about this?" McGee wonders.

Tony chuckles humorlessly. "I'm not an idiot, McGoo."

"So, no?"

"Trust me, it'll just piss her off. She'll tell me to mind my own business and it will just push her away."

McGee just smirks and turns back to his computer. "This is why I don't have a girlfriend."

"We're not dating, McAssumption. And besides, I think we all know that's not why you're single."

"Quit picking on McGee, DiNozzo, and do some work for once." The voice comes from behind them, making the two agents jump in their seats.

"Yes, Boss," he replies dutifully, before switching his monitor on and doing everything he can to distract himself from thoughts of her. Work is terrible at distracting him, however, and he finds it much more desirable to picture her smiling, laughing, beautiful face than to stare blankly at phone records on his computer screen.

God dammit, she is going to get him fired.

_A/N: I'm so sorry! My muse decided to take a vacation to the Cayman Islands while I stayed back here and freaked out about NCIS. Sorry. I really don't have a very good excuse. _

_Thanks so much to __**NCIS Ziva Dinozzo, dvd123, prince-bishop, tiva-feels, Ncisfan with Tivafever, Shortcake99, aquasm, tivagirl, angelhaggis, simsee, theroseshadow21, Kate979,**__ and __**Bex19**__ for the wonderful, encouraging reviews! And special thanks to NCIS Ziva Dinozzo and Simsee for kicking my butt into getting this chapter up. You guys have them to thank!_


	21. Chapter 21

Ziva is on the bus home when her phone rings. A quick glance at the caller ID ascertains that it is her brother calling. Frowning, she flips it open.

"Ari," she greets calmly.

"_We have a problem." _Ziva's eyes widen in surprise when she hears his voice. He is upset. This does not bode well.

"What kind of problem?" she inquires, speaking softly Hebrew so as to avoid eavesdroppers on the crowded public transportation vehicle.

"_The Eli kind."_

The second Ari speaks her father's name, her heart begins to pound in her chest. The mere mention of the man had the ability to bring her to the brink of panic. "Ari. Elaborate," she demands, her words stunted. She has nightmares sometimes about what Eli would do if he found them. There are days when she thinks she sees him, blending into crowds or hiding behind newsstands on street corners or lurking in the dimly lit booth in the corner of the diner. It is her imagination of course, but there is nothing she can do to curb her paranoia. Some days even flashes of gray hair makes her breath catch in her throat.

"_Director Chaikin resigned last week. Eli has taken his place."_

Ziva takes a second to absorb the news. When Ari mentioned her father, she assumed the worst. This news… It is not good, but it is not as bad as she expected. Nothing has actually happened that directly affects them.

Not yet, at least.

She takes a deep breath before responding, schooling her expression so as to not draw attention to herself. "What does this mean?"

"_It means we have to be more careful. He has more power now, more resources at his disposal. I don't know if he'll try to use them to find us, but…"_

"Ari, we are already _careful._ I do not know what more we can do," Ziva replies, sighing into the receiver.

"_Me neither, to be perfectly honest. I will talk to Bashan, make sure everything is still okay."_

"And if it's not?" Ziva wonders, knowing perfectly well what his answer will be.

"_Then we start over somewhere else and cover our tracks better this time,_" Ari answers. It is not hard to discern from his voice that Ari is just as unpleased with this prospect as she.

"Hopefully it does not come to that." They have managed to settle down here. Ari has a steady job, Tali has assimilated into the American school system… and Ziva has a friend.

"_I've got to go. We'll discuss this more later."_

With that the line goes dead.

…

_Ziva had never been particularly good at keeping track of the days in that place, but it was not hard for her to tell that Kameel was putting her to "work" a lot more than once a week. She lost count a long time ago of how many men she had serviced since her arrival. Despite this, however, the days seemed to pass quicker. They were tedious, and she spent them either by teaching Lila Hebrew or by reading. Months passed, and her friend's vocabulary expanded, and the number of books she had not yet read shrunk._

_She visited the drop site every month with new information. Every time she put new information into the safe, she uttered a silent prayer that it would be enough information. On days when she was sure that Kameel and Harim both had left the warehouse, she snuck into the former's room and found what she could, meanwhile hoping beyond hope that they would not arrive back before she had the chance to make her escape._

_But such is the life of a spy._

_Sometimes it was so easy to forget that she was not Ziva Shahar. Occasionally, she would forget that she was even on a mission. Her name was fake, but the pain was real. The loneliness was real. The despair and the hopelessness were real, all real._

_Her best guess was that it had been four months, and she wondered how much longer Abba expected her to endure this so silently. _

_Sometimes she wondered if he even remembered she existed._

…

"Ilan? Really?"

"Yes."

Ziva sighs. "I guess I should not be surprised. Eli always seemed to like him."

Ari shrugs as he swallows his pizza. "I was surprised."

"What did you expect him to do, Ari, pick _you _to be Deputy Director_?_"

He rolls his eyes. "_No._ But you missed some things when you left for your mission. Things changed, at least on the Ilan front."

She narrows her eyes in confusion. "How so?"

"Ilan joined Mossad straight out of the IDF, the year you left for Be'er Sheva. He was sent on a mission to Palestine. He got captured. Tortured."

She raises her eyebrows. This is news to her. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"Well I was away in Edinburgh at the time, but Yaniv kept me filled in on his brother. Ilan escaped. The common belief was that he left a part of his sanity back there in his prison, though. Yaniv said he started having bad anxiety attacks. Paranoia. Flashbacks. Mossad put him into therapy, yanked his field license. The doctors started pumping him full of all sorts of meds, and according to Yaniv they worked."

"So how did he end up the Deputy Director?" Ziva asks.

"I guess Eli was fond enough of him to find him a bureaucratic post since he couldn't do fieldwork. He would have had to pull some major strings and expunge a hell of a lot from Ilan's record, but that's never stopped Eli before. I just never thought _Deputy Director_ would be a good slot, especially for someone so young. Ilan's no more than six years older than I am now." Ari shrugs.

"Does any of this even matter?" Ziva wonders.

"Not really. I talked to Bashan, he assured me that Eli is not onto us, at least from what he can tell," Ari promises. She sighs with relief.

"Good. I… I do not want to leave," Ziva admits, her hand coming up to her belly protectively as it often does. Her brother notices.

"How did the appointment go? Everything good?"

Ziva uncomfortably pushes the beans around on her plate, thinking of the doctor's orders. "No," she replies, her voice soft. "My baby is underweight."

"I told you you needed to eat more," Ari reprimands, raising his eyebrow at her. Her eyes narrow. She is not in the mood for _I told you so_'s.

"And_ I_ told _you_ it was not that simple. I'm _trying_ here, Ari."

"Try harder," he demands, and she knows she should be angry with him and his audacity. The energy to yell, however, doesn't come. She is reminded of what Dr. Kendiss said about her being exhausted.

"I _will_."

"No. Now. Eat," he orders, thrusting his finger towards her still-full plate. Screwing up her face, she rips off another bite of pizza a chews it carefully. She grimaces as her stomach rebels. _Knowing_ she must do something and _actually doing it_ are two very different things.

"I hate this. I just want everything to be _okay_ for once," she mutters, not necessarily intending for Ari to hear it. Of course, he does anyway.

"It will be," he assures her.

"I am not even into my second trimester and I am already a terrible mother. I do not know how that will ever be _okay._"

"Quit beating yourself up. You're at least _trying _to gain weight. You're not a bad mother," Ari assures her, rolling his eyes a bit.

"Yes, I _am._ I…" she trails off, looking away from him. She would not be able to sufficiently back up her argument without bringing up her main supporting point—the miscarriage.

There are some things that are just far too personal.

"You what?" Ari prompts.

"I need to cut back my hours at the diner," she covers, using this as an opportunity to breach a subject she had been meaning to discuss. She can tell by Ari's face that he is not fooled—he knows that was not what she had originally planned on saying. He rolls with it, however, and Ziva respects him for it.

"Okay. It shouldn't be a problem." He does not even ask why, and Ziva doesn't know how to deal with that level of trust. She feels obliged to explain herself, even if she can't tell him the whole story of why Kendiss is concerned.

"The doctor told me that she is worried about the pregnancy. She thinks I need to take it easy…" she hurries to explain, wanting Ari to understand that she was not trying to shirk her responsibilities to this family. He holds up his hand to stop her.

"You don't need to explain. The baby should be your priority," he assuaged her. She nods her appreciation.

"Did I hear you say you aren't going to work as much?"

Ari and Ziva's heads whip around to find Tali standing in the doorway. Ziva smiles, holding out her arms for her little sister.

"Yes. I'm quitting my morning shift. My baby doesn't like it when I work too much." Ziva pulls Tali in for a hug, kissing the crown of her head.

"Good. I don't, either," the little girl says.

"I did not tell you," Ziva begins, "but Ari suggested to me a few days ago that I take Sundays off completely, so we can have one day completely to ourselves. And that way we can celebrate Hanukkah as a family, like you wanted."

Tali's eyes brighten. "Yes! Yes, yes, yes! Good idea, Ari," she exclaims, her smile stretching from ear to ear. Her happiness is contagious, and Ziva's face soon looks like a carbon copy of her sister's. "Tony's still coming over, right?" she inquires, shooting Ari a pointed look. He shrugs.

"Nothing has changed, last I checked."

"Ooh, we can play dreidel and Ziva can make Ima's _latkes_ and I can help her like we used to do… before." Ziva feels a twinge of sadness when her sister mentions the past, before their mother died and everything fell apart. Sunday will be about doing their best to piece together the remnants of their innocence-shrouded childhood, and filling in the holes with new friends and new traditions.

Ziva wonders idly if, after all these years of doing nothing but tearing her down, the universe is finally ready to allow her to rebuild.

She smiles. "That sounds wonderful, Tali."

…

Tony shrugs his jacket off and lays it on the empty vinyl bar seat next to him. Every night seems to be becoming chillier than the last.

"I see they've put the Christmas decorations up," he observes, sitting down. Ziva's eyes follow the same path as his as they trace their way around the dining room.

"It appears so," she concedes, giving him a small nod. "They are gaudy."

"Aw, come on," he teases, "have a little Christmas spirit!"

She shrugs. "Well you must admit that they _are _gaudy."

"Yeah," he agrees, "they kind of are. But you should see my apartment. My tree's a lot better than this one." He inclines his head towards the poor excuse for a Christmas tree sitting in the corner of the diner. "That thing looks like someone took the trees from _A Christmas Story_ and _Christmas Vacation_ and _A Charlie Brown Christmas_, mixed them all into one, and wrapped it up in a big, ugly, flashy bow."

"I have not seen any of those movies," she informs him disinterestedly. Tony does his very best to look downright appalled.

"_Ziva!_ They're classics!"

"I am Jewish," she reminds him.

"That's no excuse! Tell you what. Christmas Eve. You. Me. _A Christmas Story, Christmas Vacation, A Charlie Brown Christmas, _and a big ol' bucket of popcorn. Oh, and _It's A Wonderful Life,_ because I'm willing to bet you've been deprived of that, too. Back to back, complete movie slash TV Special marathon. You game? I'll drive you straight to my house after work. Coed sleepover," he rambles, shooting out ideas. He rather likes the idea, actually, and he tries to keep his hopefulness off his face that she will agree.

She shrugs, a ghost of a smile gracing her lips. "I do not see why not."

Tony's grin is triumphant. "Perfect. So, how was your appointment?"

"It was fine," she informs him, but he can tell that she is carefully schooling her emotions. She is trying very hard to give nothing away.

That could only mean one thing, of course.

"Oh, man, that was a big one!" he exclaims, swatting at his ear. She frowns.

"What?"

"Lies make my ears itch."

She smirks. "How many times have you used that one?"

He shrugs. "Once, in an interrogation. Got him to tell me the truth, though. My methods are unorthodox, but they work. So, now, tell me, _how _was your appointment?" She rolls her eyes.

"It… could have gone better." He can see that she is being very careful with how she phrases her answers.

"Meaning…?"

"Meaning the doctor basically recommended partial bed rest."

He cocks his head to the side. "Is something wrong?" More concern was visible on his face that he planned for her to see.

"The baby is not big enough, that's all," she dismisses. "She recommended that I cut down my hours.

Tony is unable to control the flash of panic visible in his eyes. _What? No! _Talking to her every night is arguably the highlight of most of his days, and without this time together he's not sure how many excuses he will be able to think up for seeing her. He would have to get very creative and play his cards right. Even then, he's gotten so used to spending this time in her company. This arrangement is perhaps the best thing in his day-to-day life right now, and he so desperately does not want it to change.

Funny, how easily things are taken for granted.

His alarm must be visible to her, because her response is swift and reassuring. "Do not worry, I am only cutting out my morning shift. I know how much you enjoy your evening beer, I would not take that away from you." Neither of them is fooled. They both know that it is hardly the beer that keeps him coming back every night.

"Good," he answers, trying not to sound _too _relieved. "You definitely are the best beer-pourer in town, and to lose that…" She smiles lightly at his kind-hearted sarcasm.

"Tell that to my boss. Maybe I will get a pay raise, yes?" she jokes.

Tony wishes that she would never stop smiling. Or joking. Or laughing. He enjoys seeing her face light up when she teases him or says something witty. He finds her to be the most beautiful when there is happiness in her eyes. It makes him feel as though he is doing his job, whatever that job may be. He really has no obligations towards her, besides his self-imposed ones, and even _he _doesn't really know what those responsibilities are. They are something along the lines of _keep her happy _and _repair what is broken._

"Oh, but I_ am_ taking Sundays off from now on," she adds, wringing out a rag into the sink with her back to him.

He is only _somewhat_ disappointed. After all, he wouldn't want her to become sick of him. "Well, six out of seven ain't bad," he shrugs. "Plus, we wouldn't want to give you DiNozzo Overload. You'd get tired of me eventually." Admittedly, he is fishing a little here. The last thing he expects her to do is take the bait.

But she does, and it catches him off guard. She smiles gracefully, tilting her head to the side slightly. "I highly doubt that."

The relief ands self-confidence that comes with this roundabout admission is a tidal wave. He flounders for a second, trying to come up with an appropriate response so as to not let himself drown. "Ooh, there it is again," he teases, scratching at his ear in a dog-like manner.

She scoffs. "What makes you think I am lying?"

"I am _notoriously_ annoying. There's this habit I have of getting under people's skin." His tone is lighthearted, but neither of them makes the mistake of thinking the subject at hand is not as delicate as open heart surgery. Both know how fragile his ego can be, despite—or perhaps because of—the fortified front he puts up to protect it. They also both know that her opinion of him matters a lot more to him than it ought to.

"While I will not deny that," she begins, and Tony feels his heart plummet, "you should know that it is a _good_ annoying. A necessary annoying, if that makes any sense. It is… easy. Like breathing. And like breathing… It seems that I have come to rely on it." He sees how hard she is trying, and he appreciates it.

"You rely on me annoying you?" he checks, wondering if he heard right.

"It is an easy distraction," she puts forth, again carefully choosing her wording, and he senses that perhaps he should keep the conversation from going too far in this direction. He _could_ ask her what she needs to be distracted from, but he has a feeling that it has to do with one of the numerous skeletons she has accumulated and shoved in her closet over the years. She has made it very clear that that topic is off limits. It is also why he has not and will not ask her about the new Mossad Director (not to say that he hadn't seriously considered breaching that topic, though).

He settles for saying, "Okay." Silence, for a moment, then…

"Tony?"

"Yep?"

"You are not always annoying." Her words sound marginally akin to an apology.

He offers her a crooked smile in response. "I know."

And for now, it is enough.

_A/N: Sorry this wasn't up sooner! I was going to post a while ago to make up for my impromptu, month long hiatus but, see, there was this little two-shot plot bunny that popped up and sat next to me and kept POKING ME until I finally agreed to write it. And then, as I type this, there's another one, a more aggressive one, ramming me in the side and threatening me if I do not write it. But it's a full-length story. DAMMIT go away I don't have time for you! Grr…_

_I was blown away by the response to last chapter. I want to give every last one of my reviewers suffocating Abby-hugs. Thank you to (brace yourself, this is going to be long *squee*) __**Tivafeels, Tivagirl, pirate-princess1, NCIS Ziva DiNozzo, prince-bishop, angelhaggis, shortcake99, specialagentalx, sakura2113, theroseshadow21, dvd123, Liraeyn, Bex19 **__(I am hoping to write the next chapter of Witness sometime soon), __**Cameron-sarah, simsee, nanoushka, kw, aquasm, **__and __**jojobevco**__ for the wonderful, encouraging reviews! It's good to be back:) I'm looking forward to hearing what everyone thought of this chapter!_


	22. Chapter 22

"Oh my god, it smells delicious in here. You should be a _cook_ at that diner, Ziva."

"Then you would not see me," Ziva points out as she takes Tony's coat and hangs it up in the small closet by the door.

"Tony!" Tali exclaims as she emerges from her bedroom. In three seconds flat, she has crossed the apartment and thrown her arms around their guest.

"…Tali…" Ziva warns, not entirely sure where the boundaries lie. Luckily, Tony does not seem to mind the unexpected physical contact.

"You really are a mini-Abby, aren't you?" he chuckles, patting her back gently. Tali pulls back and smiles broadly up at him.

"You're going to_ love_ Ziva's cooking. It tastes just like how Ima used to make it! You have to come and try it! The _levivot_ taste so good when you dunk them in honey," she informs him. Ziva smiles at her little sister's enthusiasm. She is glad to be able to bring Tali at least a small bit of reprieve from the homesickness.

"Is that what happened to your shirt?" Tony asks, scanning the front of her light blue shirt with an amused smile on his face.

Tali looks down at the sticky substance on the front of her shirt. "I missed my mouth a little," she explains. "I was going to change it but then you showed up." She looks up at Ziva. "Honey washes out, right?"

Ziva scoffs. "Since when have I ever known anything about removing stains? Just throw it in your bin and we can worry about it later."

"'Kay. Do not eat without me." With that, she scurries off to their room. Ziva turns to Tony.

"You are still standing in the doorway," she observes. "Please, come in."

"Thanks for inviting me. I've never celebrated Hanukkah before," he says as she guides him towards the petite kitchen table. His words are directed predominantly toward Ari, who has been following silently off to the side.

"No thanks are needed. This is about _us_ thanking _you_," Ari establishes as Tony sits down at the table. Ari takes a seat next to him and Ziva approaches the stove and stirs the pot roast.

"How're you enjoying your first day off in, what, a month?" Tony inquires. Has it really been a month, she wonders? It seems like so much shorter and so much longer than that at the same time. It is a strange feeling. Life before America seems like years ago, however at the same time it feels like the past few weeks have flown by.

"I did not work on Thanksgiving, remember?" she corrects.

He shrugs. "Still, I think you're entitled to more than one day off every few weeks. So, what're ya makin'?"

"It is a brisket pot roast. It has meat, so you will like it, yes?" she teases. Tony grins broadly.

"Hell, yeah," he agrees. Ziva smirks and waves the spoon in his direction.

"It is a good thing I did not cut the recipe in half then. Between you and Ari I do not think we would have had enough."

"Tali, too," Ari reminds her. "The child eats like a teenage boy!"

"I am smarter than most teenage boys." Ari turns to find Tali standing in the doorway. "Prettier, too." She walks over to the table and sits on Ari's lap. He lets out an exaggerated _oof_ as she deposits her weight onto him.

"It's no wonder you have such an appetite. You are growing very fast. Soon you will be too big for this," Ari teases, ruffling her hair. She swats at his hand, pouting as she tries to fix the strands he misplaced.

"You had better not get any food on that," Ziva warns, frowning at the white blouse Tali had changed into. "Who said it was okay for you to raid my closet?"

Tali just shrugs nonchalantly. "All my pretty tops are dirty. You are not using this."

"It is big on you," Ziva observes. While the blouse is tight on _her_, it is visibly loose on her sister.

"Just a little," Tali protests.

"Since when can you fit into your sister's clothes?" Ari asks, looking surprised. Tali grins.

"Like you said, I'm growing really fast. I'm almost as tall as she is now." The pride in her voice makes Ziva laugh.

"You are a good five inches shorter than me," Ziva points out as she walks over and grabs four bowls from the shelf.

Tali pouts. "Four and a half," she corrects. "You won't be able to wear the clothes you have now pretty soon, anyhow. Can't I wear them until the baby is born?"

Ziva chuckles in amusement. "We will see," she compromises, and Tali looks satisfied with that. Ziva wonders if Tali knows that her older sister cannot refuse her. "You have been awfully quiet," Ziva points out, directing her words at their guest.

"I'm just observing," Tony explains. "I never had any siblings."

"You have missed out, my friend," Ari expresses as his arms come up to warp around his sister, who is still sitting in his lap.

"Aw, Ari, you do care!" Tali teases, leaning her head back into his shoulder.

"I never really realized what I was missing, until now," Tony admits. When Ziva looks up from ladling the roast into the bowls, she finds him looking directly at her.

"You never got lonely?" Tali wonders.

Tony, after a few seconds of intense eye contact, breaks away and looks at Tali. He shrugs. "My mom was like my sibling. We did everything together. She used to take me to this little run down theatre and we would watch movies together… Once she died, though, yeah. I got lonely. But by that time I had friends to entertain me, and then a few years later I went to boarding school. There's no way to be lonely at boarding school." He laughs a little at the last part, but Ziva knows it is solely for the purpose of covering up the intense emotions he is feeling.

"And now you have your NCIS team to keep you company," she adds.

He brightens a little at this. "True. Abby and the Probie are like the siblings I never really had."

Ziva senses that perhaps he would prefer a subject change, so she puts the ladle back into the pot and grabs a bowl and a spoon. She crosses the short distance from the stove to the table and places them in front of Tony. "I do hope you like this. This is the first time I have tried to make this on my own, and the recipe is all from memory. I hope I did not leave anything out…" It has been many years since Ziva has assisted her mother with making meals. Even then, she had a tendency to screw things up. Hopefully this isn't dreadful, and they won't end up eating cereal for Hanukkah dinner.

"I'm sure it tastes fine," Tony assures her. Ziva scoffs as she places two more bowls on the table.

"Tell me that _after_ you have eaten it, yes?"

Once all the places are set, Ziva sits down on the side of the square table between Ari and Tony. Tali follows suit and pulls herself up off of her brother's lap, taking a seat across from her older sister.

"Can we eat now?" she asks eagerly. Ziva nods and picks up her spoon.

"Dive in," she allows.

"Dig," Tony corrects.

"Hmm?"

"Dig in. Not dive in." It is Tali who answers Ziva's query, and Tony shoots her an impressed look.

"_Nice._ Hear that, Ziva? Mini-ninja's showing you up," he teases, offering her that crooked smile that warms her heart.

"Shush. I made dinner. You will be respectful or I will take away your food," she threatens lightheartedly. He pretends to look horrified at the thought, and Tali giggles.

"Ziva," Ari begins. "This… is incredible. It's been a long time since I tasted Rivka's, but from what I remember this is _spot on_. You definitely need to cook more often." Ziva grins at this, meanwhile hoping that Tony does not notice that Ari does not refer to Rivka as his mother. She does not necessarily have any desire to explain to him the complexities of her family; that would mean giving away more information than she cared to.

"It does! It tastes _exactly_ like Ima's!" Tali exclaims, her young face lighting up in a bright, genuine smile. It warms Ziva's heart to know that it was her who put it there.

"Maybe I _should_ cook more often, then. As long as you two do the dishes."

"And you bring the leftovers to the diner so I can eat them," Tony adds.

"Well, you have proven to be a good guest. I may invite you back the next time I cook for these two then, hmm?" she compromises. She has decided that she likes having Tony over. It is effortless and simple and it is so nice to feel that she is doing something for _him_, for once.

"Yes! You can't tell anyone else, though. First rule of food club: don't talk about food club," he agrees enthusiastically.

Ziva cocks her head to the side, confused. "What?"

Tony looks horrified. "_Ziva!_ Don't tell me you've never seen it! Or at least _heard_ of it!"

"Heard of what?" she asks, even more puzzled than before.

"_Fight Club_." It is Ari that answers. "That came out, what, two years ago? She would not have seen it. She has been very busy the past few years."

A connection is made, and it clicks in Ziva's brain. "Oh, the movie. Yes. I mean no, I have not seen it. I was never one for the movies. I prefer books." She has, in actuality, never heard of the movie, but she plays along and rolls with the punches. Ari discretely sends her a look that reads something along the lines of _nice save._

They drain their bowls of the pot roast. In everybody's case but Ziva's, they go back for second helpings. It is a victory for her just to have finished the first bowl.

"Oh! Tali! Why did you not remind me about the _levivot_?" Ziva exclaims, jumping from her chair and hurrying over to the counter where a pile of potato pancakes sits, forgotten.

"Sorry!" Tali exclaimed. "Don't forget the honey!"

"You are going to eat these with _applesauce,_" Ziva reprimands. "You already had three with the honey! And don't forget about the _loukoumades."_

Tali pouts. "Fine," she grumbles.

Ziva brings the plate of _levivot_ over to the table and sits it in the middle, along with the bowl of applesauce next to it. She goes back to the cupboard and returns with plates, which she sits in front of each person.

"Try one," she prompts Tony.

"What are they?" he wonders as he places one on of the pancakes on his plate and spoons applesauce onto it.

"They are what you would call… potato pancakes. _Latkes,_ I believe that is the more common word for them," Ari explains. Tony's face brightens in recognition. He looks positively delighted.

"My roommate in eighth grade was Jewish. He used to bring in _bags _of these when he came back from break. Everyone else would go to dinner but he and I and our other roommate would just stay up in our room and eat these," Tony recalls as he shoves a bite into his mouth. "These," he begins with his mouth full, gesturing towards his plate with his silverware, "are _so much better_ than Daniel's mom's."

Ziva grins, helping herself to one as well. "I am glad." She can't help but feel very proud. It has been a while since someone had deemed her talented at something that did not involve her father's training.

They talk all through dinner. Sometimes it is about NCIS, and Ziva listens with fascination as Tony recalls strange cases they have encountered (keeping it PG for Tali, of course). Sometimes Ari tells them stories of his time in Edinburgh. Sometimes Ari and Tony get into friendly arguments about movies and sports and cars. Ziva thinks that it is very nice to see them getting along. Her fondness for Tony grows with his every word, especially when he is discussing things he is passionate about. The way his eyes light up mesmerizes her. One time she realizes that Tali is watching her watch him, and the younger sister sends her a knowing, meaningful look. Ziva shrugs it off.

When the _levivot_ have been cleared away, Ziva brings out the _loukoumades._

"What are _these?"_ Tony wonders, sounding absolutely enthralled.

"Exactly what they look like," Ziva informs him. "Honey covered doughnuts."

"You spoil me," he practically groans, grabbing at one of the puffs.

"Your mouth is watering," Ziva teases as he pops one of them into his mouth.

"And rightfully so," Tony says through the food in his mouth. "Dese ah duh-ish-ush."

"Ah, ah, chew and swallow first," she reprimands. He rolls his eyes, but does as he is told.

"What are you, my mother?" he jokes. "I said _these are delicious."_

Ziva's responding smirk is prideful and teasingly cocky. "I know." To prove a point, she plucks one from the dish and places it in her mouth, chewing carefully, despite the fact that she is absolutely full.

"Careful, we are inflating her ego," Ari warns Tony. Ziva narrows her eyes, and waves her hand in the air.

"Okay, by all means, do not continue to compliment my cooking. Less food for you." She pulls the plate of doughnuts towards herself, sheltering them with her arms.

Ari clears his throat. "What I mean to say was 'Tony's right, Ziva, you are an incredible cook and an incredible baker and please let us have more.'"

Ziva smirks and retracts her arms. "That is better." Ari pulls the plate back to the center of the table and the two men, along with Tali, descend upon it like starving wolves.

When their stomachs are full, Ziva tells Tali in Hebrew to go fetch the dreidel. Tony looks nervous at this.

"What'd she say?" he asks Ari.

"You will see," Ari promises. Tony does not look satisfied at that.

By the time Tali returns, Ziva has cleared the table and put all of the dishes in the sink. The younger girl places what looks to Tony like a mesh bag of golden coins and a four-sided top on the table. Tony grins.

"Dreidel!" he exclaims. "Hey, that means those are chocolate, right?" he asks, pointing to the coins.

"Yep! Do you know how to play?" Tali wonders.

"Not really, no," Tony admits.

"Well, you start out with ten _gelt,"_ Tali explains. "You put one in the middle. Then you spin the _sevivon_, and depending on which letter it lands on, that's what you do. So if it lands on _gimel,_ then you take everything from the middle. If it lands on _hei_ you get half, _nun_ you do nothing,and _pei_ you put three in. Got it?"

"Yep. Got it. We're gambling with chocolate. Oh, except… which side is which?"

Ziva takes over explaining from there. Tony, once he figures out which side is the _gimel_ and which is the _hei _and the _nun_ and the _pei_, catches on very quickly. It is not long before he is in possession of the majority of the forty _gelt._

"Beginners luck," Ari protests.

"You're just a sore loser," Tony teases. Ari retaliates by throwing a piece at him lightly, to which Tony responds by reciprocating. In the end, Tali snatches the two off of the floor and is two _gelt_ richer, while Ari and Tony grumble.

It is later that Tali voices something that Ziva has been hoping she had forgotten about. "We do not have a menorah."

"I did not think to buy one, and when I realized it was too late," Ziva explains. However, Tali's face lights up, and Ziva thinks she understands the meaning behind the popular cartoon metaphor of ideas and lightbulbs. Tali scurries off into the other room.

"I cannot believe we forgot the menorah," Ari whispers. Ziva just sighs.

Tali is gone for a solid five minutes. When she returns, she is toting something that even Ziva fails to comprehend.

"Tali, what…?"

"I made one," she explains, holding out her paper creation.

"Is that your math homework?" Ziva wonders as she studies what Tali has sat on the table. It appears that she rolled up a bunch of pieces of paper of varying lengths, then taped them together to form a paper menorah. The base was formed by two intersecting tubes taped together. From their intersecting point rose another roll, which was intersected horizontally by another long tube. Nine smaller rolls were taped vertically atop it, the middle one being the tallest. Ziva could tell that they were supposed to represent candles.

"Wow," Tony expresses, "I give that a ten for creativity."

"You do realize that we cannot actually light this on fire?" Ari wonders, looking at his littlest sister quizzically. Tali just grins back at him and pulls out a yellow Crayola marker from behind her back.

"I'm not _stupid,_ Ari. We will just have to draw them on," she insists, uncapping the lid. "I know the _shamash_ is supposed to light all the other candles," Tali admits, pointing to the largest protruding roll of paper in between all of the others, "so I was going to try to put the marker there instead of another piece of paper. But it didn't really work, it just toppled the whole thing over."

Ziva laughs. "It is perfect the way it is, Tali."

"I just checked, it's almost sundown. Can I do it?"

"Of course. Do you remember the blessings?" Ziva wonders. Tali's brow furrows.

"Only the first, because it's like the one we would sing on Shabbat."

"Then we will just do that one. Go ahead," Ziva nods. Tali begins to sing.

"_Baruch Atah Adonai Eloheinu Melech HaOlam, asher kidshanu b'mitzvotav v'tzivanu l'hadlik ner shel Hanukkah.__" _Her melody floats through the otherwise silent apartment, bringing even the breathing of her listeners to a halt. Her voice entrances them, and it even after she stops singing they still have not moved. Tali takes no notice. Leaning over, she draws a yellow flame on the top of rightmost "candle."

She sits the marker down and smiles triumphantly. "There."

Ziva grins at her little sister and comes around to the other side of the table to wrap her into a hug. "That was lovely," she compliments.

"Yeah, no kidding. Tali… You have an_ incredible_ voice," Tony tells her, eyes wide.

Tali smiles her thanks. "Ziva's is better."

"Ha!" Ziva scoffs. "I only wish that my voice is just a fraction of as beautiful as yours."

"Thank you," Tali responds, blushing slightly.

"You should sing more often," Ari informs her.

"I discovered _two _Regev family hidden talents tonight," Tony muses. "What's yours, Ari? Tap dancing?"

"Ballet, actually," Ari jokes. Tony, for a second, falls for it.

"_Really_?"

"No! I have the grace of a… chicken. It is Ziva that is the swan," Ari corrects. Tony's eyes widen in interest and he turns his gaze towards her.

"You dance?"

"I used to," Ziva admits. "Not anymore."

"Maybe you should take it back up. You know, after you have the baby and all," Tony suggests. Ziva ponders that.

"Maybe."

It is nice to say that word. _Maybe._ As in, it may be. It _can be_ so. Usually, Ziva would hate it. _Maybe_ means uncertainty.

However, it also carries with it the implication of a future. _Maybe_ means that one day, perhaps, it will happen. _Maybe_ means hope.

_A/N: I hope you liked this chapter. Sorry it took so long. I was blocked for a while. I must really love you, because it's midnight now and I have two final exams tomorrow._

_The song Tali is singing is the same tune (and very nearly all the same words) as the one little-Ziva (Gabi Coccio) sings in the opening scene of Shiva. Just in case you were wondering._

_Again, I was blown away by the wonderful responses I have been getting! Thank you to __**shortcake99, xncisgirlx16, bex19, ncistiva3, NCIS Ziva DiNozzo, Cameron-sarah, prince-bishop, angelhaggis, aquasm, tivagirl, dvd123, kate97, TheRoseShadow, quotelation, **__and a __**guest**__ reviewer for the wonderful words of encouragement! You are wonderful! Feel free to let me know what you thought of this, I am sort of nervous about how it turned out. _


	23. Chapter 23

"You were in my dream last night," Tony tells her as he takes a seat on the barstool.

Ziva frowns at him, tilting her head to the side. "That is… creepy, Tony."

"Well, it wasn't so much you as it was those little donut hole things that you make," he assures her. "It was like… little honey-covered balls of perfection dancing across my subconscious. Like… food porn or something."

"_Food porn? _Like food pornography?" she asks, her nose crinkling up in confusion. "Food cannot have sex."

"I don't know, it's… an expression or something, I guess," Tony dismisses. Ziva pours and hands him his drink.

"I will _never_ understand your language," she vows. American expressions are more trouble than they are worth, in her opinion.

"Eh, give it some time. You've only been here a month, let it sink in a little," he advises. "I knew this kid in boarding school when I was sixteen who was from… Turkey, I think. He always screwed up English expressions." Tony's expression brightens, and he laughs at a memory. "One time, his homework flew out the window, and he told the teacher his homework did a blow job! Apparently he heard the term used somewhere and figured that's what it meant."

Ziva tilts her head to the side. Does he expect to her to know what that means? "I do not know what a blow job is, Tony."

"Look it up," he chuckles, "I'm not gonna explain it. I'd hate to corrupt your innocence, Miss Regev."

"That boat sailed a long time ago," she states, a bit of sadness creeping into her tone. To his credit, he chooses to ignore it, a fact for which she is grateful.

"Ship."

"Whatever," she scoffs. They lapse into a heavy silence. It is Tony that eventually breaks it, however, she is not thrilled with what he says.

"Can I ask you a question?"

Ziva hates that particular inquiry. It is annoyingly rhetorical—he's going to ask either way. She nods in the affirmative.

"Well, when I was over yesterday… I noticed something."

"Noticed _what?"_ she prompts, his hesitation getting on her nerves. She much prefers it when people just say what they need to say.

"…A dent. In your wall."

It takes Ziva a moment to comprehend his words—to remember the small, fist-sized dent that decorates the otherwise bare kitchen wall. She remembers the day that she took Tali to see Abby, and how, that night at dinner, Ari exploded. She remembers him pacing around the room as he blamed himself for everything that happened to her, and tried to find physical release by taking some of the anger out on the drywall.

"Tony…" she begins, her voice low with warning. What is he suggesting?

"Before you get angry with me for asking," he interrupts, holding his hand out to stop the potential reprimanding from Ziva, "hear me out. I've seen tons of dents like that in my time as a cop. The situation… it's never good. And I know you probably are mad at me for asking, but you're my friend, and what kind of friend would I be if I didn't make sure you were safe when you went home at night?" His eyes are filled with concern.

"You are wondering if Ari is abusive," Ziva reiterates. The expression on Tony's face is pleading with her, for what she is not entirely sure. It hurts her heart, and she finds that it is difficult to be angry with him for asking.

"Is he?" He almost looks afraid of the answer.

"You have spoken with Ari before, numerous times. You seemed to really get along last night. Do you _seriously_ think he is the type?" she wonders, almost dumbfounded. Ari and Tony got off to a difficult start, but that was to be expected. Tony seems to genuinely _like_ talking to him, at least that's how it seems to her. It bewilders her that Tony could be chatting like best friends with a man one second, then in the next think he is abusive.

"Ziva," he begins, running his hand through his hair, "I've arrested enough wife-beaters in my time to know that it's not always the ones you would suspect. I like Ari, I do, but I needed to make sure…"

"I appreciate your worry," she begins, eyeing him meaningfully, "but there is no reason for you to be concerned. Ari has never once been violent towards me or our sister. He is usually good a keeping himself calm."

"'Usually,'" Tony parrots. "And when he does get angry?"

"Then it is the wall that bears the force of his wrath, not us. He would never… Ari is a good man, despite all the _crap_ he has been through. His anger… well, it is not even really anger at all."

Tony is confused, that much is evident. "What does that mean?"

Ziva pauses, considering how to properly convey her point. "It means that Ari's anger almost always stems from fear."

"I never got the impression that he's an easily scared guy," Tony admits. Ziva nods.

"That is because Ari is not scared of the things you're thinking of; he can stare down the barrel of a gun and not bat an eyelash. He is afraid of what he cannot confront. He is afraid of things that he can't beat in a hand-to-hand fight," she explains. She has given her brother's psyche a lot of thought, admittedly.

"Like?"

"Situations. Higher powers, divine or otherwise. Himself."

Tony frowns at that. "Himself?"

Ziva just shrugs. "He has had a lot of responsibility dumped on him lately. Taking care of his family is a lot of pressure. He is terrified that he is going to screw it up—screw _us_ up. When he lost his job is an easy example."

"So was that when he hit the wall? After he lost his job?"

"No, it was a few days before he lost his job."

"So what was it that time? Fear of himself, of the situation, of God…?" Tony wonders.

Ziva spends a second trying to come up with an acceptable answer. "Himself, and the situation, too, I suppose. He was blaming himself for something that was entirely not his fault, and how it has… affected us, particularly me."

"Any chance you will tell me what it is?"

She folds her arms across her chest defensively. "No." There is no way she will be telling Tony about Be'er Sheva, or anything from her past for that matter. They are trying to rebuild, to start a new life, and they will never be successful if they keep bringing up the past.

"Just checking."

She sighs, and releases her arms. Her hand reaches out to his, which is lying on the counter, and she gives it a gentle pat. "Thank you for the concern, but you do not need to worry. Ari is not perfect, and God knows that he is not always a particularly gentle man, but he _always_ tries to do good by us. That is what matters."

He gives her a little smile, seemingly satisfied with her answers. It appears that she has assuaged his concern. It surprises her that she did not explode in anger at him for such an inquiry. Instead of becoming bitter and defensive, she felt a strange sense of calm.

Tony _cares._ If she was not sure before, she is positive now. He obviously was nervous about asking her about Ari, but he risked her wrath to ensure that she is safe. It is inexplicably _nice_ to know that he worries about her.

He shoots her a crooked smile. "So, any chance you have any of those donut things left?"

…

_When September came, it shocked her. _

_Esther kept track of the dates on a little piece of paper she had found, and when Ziva discovered it was September, she had to take a deep breath. Five months, she had been stuck in that warehouse for five months. She had wasted almost a half a year of her life in this disgusting, vile place, away from everything she knew and loved. No matter how hard she tries, she won't be able to get those months back._

_Esther only mentioned the date because she came to an important decision. In less than two weeks was Rosh Hashanah, the New Year, and ten days later, Yom Kippur. "We missed it last year," she said, "and the year before that. But I do not want us to miss it this year. Maybe we can bring some light back into this place."_

"_What does it matter? We gave up on our faith a long time ago," grumbled one of the girls._

"_God does not care about us, so why should we care about him?" voiced another._

"_Hey, speak for yourself! Not all of us have forgotten our faith, Rebekah!" Gavriela pointed out._

"_We have not __**forgotten**__ our faith," Rebekah replied, "we've given up. Look around. Do not tell me that God is here with us."_

"_He's here, we just need to look harder."_

"_Really? Was he here when Sarah died of sickness last year? Or last night, when that client—"_

"_Enough," Esther interrupted. "You have every right to your own beliefs. If you truly believe that we have been forsaken, then fine. But at least join those who don't in celebration. Maybe you can bring God back to this place then, hmm? At the very least you can take comfort in the old traditions we used to take part in as children. Maybe it will do you some good."_

_Ziva did not take part in the conversation, instead she simply sat and watched. She was afraid of opening her mouth, afraid that the words that came out would reflect the doubts she felt in her heart._

_She was afraid she would admit that she sympathized with Rebekah._

…

"Hey, you wanna take the scenic route tonight?" Tony proposes one night in mid-December.

"Scenic route? It is pitch dark outside," she protests, confused as to what Tony could _possibly_ have in mind in terms of site-seeing this late at night.

"Trust me, it's good that it's dark, at least for this."

"What are we doing?" There is a hint of wariness in her voice.

"We're gonna go look at the Christmas lights around the neighborhoods." Childlike excitement lights up what she is able to see of his face, and Ziva does not have the heart to say no to him.

"Okay," she agrees, briefly reveling in how much she trusts him. It is a nice feeling, trust, and it's something that she has not frequently had the luxury of experiencing.

"You'll love this. It's really cool. Some people go all out for this, and I mean _all out._ It's insane."

They drive for a little while before coming to a relatively nice neighborhood. It does not take long for her nose to be nearly pressed up against the glass like a child. The houses on either side of the car are adorned with and illuminated by multicolored lights. They wind their way around tree trunks and line rooftops, contouring the different residences in a classy and, surprisingly, non-ostentatious manner. Some of them remain static, while others flicker and twinkle.

"It would look prettier with snow, but…" Tony shrugs. There has yet to be a snowfall, however forecasters are predicting that the first snow of the winter season will come sometime in the next week.

"Do people do these all themselves?" Ziva wonders, imagining men balancing precariously atop freezing rooftops, coils of lights in one hand and a stapler in the other.

"Sometimes. Other times people hire professionals to get it done. My dad spent ten grand once, because my mom was really into Christmas lights but wouldn't let him do it himself because of his bad knee. It was crazy," Tony tells her. Ziva frowns.

"Why would you spend so much money on something you will just take down in a month?" Ziva asks, truly puzzled. _Ten grand._ Ziva has never seen so much money in her life, and with her family living paycheck to paycheck, she finds the thought unfathomable.

"Well because of people like you," he replies, and when Ziva shoots him a confused look, he clarifies. "I mean look at you. You're _entranced._ Your eyes are shining." Ziva grants him a small smile before turning back to the window and observing the passing houses.

"What is the significance of the deer? And why is its nose red?" she asks as she looks at the light-up animal in the passing yard. She observed many similar decorations in the other lawns they passed.

"Don't tell me you've never heard the song!" Tony protests, looking playfully aghast.

"Tony, most people do not celebrate Christmas where I am from," she reminds him.

"_Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer,"_ he begins to sing, a grin as wide as the crescent moon appearing on his face."

"You do not need to—"

"_Had a very shiny nose—"_

"Tony…."

"—_And if you ever saw it, you would even say it glows."_

"Really, Tony, you—"

"_All of the other reindeer used to laugh and call him names…" _A smug look takes home in his eyes as he eyes Ziva meaningfully, ignoring her protests.

"Tony!"

"Okay, fine, Mrs. Scrooge, I'll stop singing," he grumbles with mock-resentment.

"So Rudolph is the reindeer? And he has a… red nose, yes? And somehow this all fits into your Christmas folk-lore?"

"Mmhmmm. Rudolph was one of Santa's reindeer that pulls his sleigh so he can deliver the presents to all the good little boys and girls all over the world," Tony explains, realizing full well the various shortcomings of his explanation.

Ziva drops the subject, instead turning back to the window to observe the brightly decorated houses that lined the street on either side. She is surprisingly sad when they come full circle and return to the exit of the neighborhood. It is only once they leave that she turns back to Tony.

"Thank you," she expresses, conveying fully how much she enjoyed herself. He offers her a knowing smile in return.

"Hey, anything to see that light in your eyes," he returns, and Ziva really does not know how to respond to that.

The silence that encompasses them after they both fall silent is not awkward. It is comfortable, and Ziva appreciates that _they_ can appreciate the moment of silence as well as the moments of spirited conversation. The drive back to her apartment is not long, and soon she has opened the door and stepped out into the chilly December air.

"Hey, Christmas Eve is a week from tonight. We still on for our movie marathon after work?" he checks, and Ziva can plainly see that he is hoping very strongly for her to answer yes. The decision to say yes in the first place to his offer was not one that she came to lightly, despite the fact that it did not take her long to give him an answer. Sleeping at Tony's apartment would be completely new territory for her. However, he has done so much for her and asked for so little. His offer did not sound altogether unappealing; in fact, a part of her truly wanted to go. Spending time with him is surprisingly easy and natural, and despite the fact that she loves her family dearly, a part of her yearns for a break, even if only for one night. So she said yes, and she has not changed her mind.

"Of course. You will bring the movies, yes? Is there anything that I should bring? Popcorn? Beer?"

"Nope. I've got it under control. And besides, you do realize you're not even old enough to drink in this country, right?"

Ziva shrugs, her hand coming up to her stomach. "I cannot drink anyhow," she reminds him.

"Alright," he nods, "juice boxes it is. Any suggestions?"

She ponders the question. "I like fruit punch."

"Whatever the lady wants, the lady shall have." She smirks at his antics.

"When did you get so chivalrous, DiNozzo?" she teases. He just smiles.

"When I befriended such a lovely lady," he responds, tipping a make-believe hat in her direction. She mock-curtsies.

"Goodnight, Tony," she bids.

"Night. See ya later, alligator."

She shuts the door and watches his taillights disappear around the corner. It is not until she reaches the door to the apartment before she realizes the little smile painting her lips.

So this is what healing feels like.

_A/N: I wasn't too fond of this chapter, but I felt like I'd kept you wonderful people waiting long enough. I meant to write this a long time ago, but the timing never coincided with my muse. Hopefully it won't be so long next time!_

_Also, for those of you thinking that Ari's personality in the show is going to come into place here, I can assure you that is won't. When they left for America, Ari was still getting his medical degree and therefore had not been installed as a hamas mole yet. He has not been corrupted and is not going to burst and start blowing things up._

_For those of you who didn't notice, I created a cover for the story. It's not all that special, but it's something:) _

_You guys are such wonderful reviewers! Thanks to __**tivagirl, andixoxox8, NCIS Ziva Dinozzo, **__the wonderful __**Abby,**__**prince-bishop, shortcake99, TheRoseShadow21, Simsee, Bex19, dvd123, Kaylen**__ (aka Joop Jebediah Ebenezer), __**earanemith, Ghee Buttersnaps **__(I flipped when I saw your name, of course, I mean what is Gus doing reading my story),__and __**Lovethestories**__ for the awesome feedback! _


	24. Chapter 24

"Go back to sleep," Ziva groans as she lets out a low moan and rolls over onto her stomach, pressing her pillow firmly over her ears. Her night was restless, which was becoming more and more common. She would wake up in the dead of night from dreams that she couldn't entirely remember. They left lingering feelings of fear, loneliness, and helplessness that prevented her from falling back into the sleep she so desired. Eventually she must have fallen back to sleep out of pure exhaustion, although she does not remember losing consciousness.

Hormones are, naturally, what she blames for the insomnia and bad dreams. As a pregnant woman, she is entitled to blaming everything on the rising and fluctuating hormones. However, she would much prefer morning sickness to this. The restless nights started out few and far between, but within the last week they started occurring mere days apart.

"But Zivi! You have to get up, you have to see it!" Tali protests, yanking on her sister's arm.

"I will look later," Ziva replies, her response muffled a little by the pillow, the same pillow which Tali wastes not a second in ripping away.

"No, _now!_ You'll miss it!"

Tali is nothing if not persistent, and she grabs hold of Ziva's hand and drags her out of bed. The older girl, dressed in nothing but her underpants and father's old, long t-shirt, let herself be tugged along, stumbling blindly. Her eyes are hardly even open, and she feels herself being dragged to their bedroom window. The black on the inside of her eyelids turns a bright red as bright light shines onto them. Ziva squints, fluttering her eyelids. The first thing she notices is her little sister standing in front of her, beaming. It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust so she can see out of the window, considering how bright the morning light is. The moment her squinting eyes focus, a smile appears on her face to match Tali's.

"It's snowing," Ziva states, taking a few steps closer to the window. Wonder fills her gaze.

"Can you believe it?! It's just like in the movies! It's so _fluffy_!"

"It is beautiful," Ziva concedes, her fingertips coming up to touch the chilled glass. Outside, white flakes of snow are floating gently to the ground. The ones that land in the asphalt disappear, however those that fall into the frosted grass mingle with the others and accumulate. A snowflake lands on the window, and in the seconds before it disappears Ziva gets a chance to see it up close. It is perfectly symmetrical, flawlessly crafted by nature itself. She watches as it grows transparent and then melts away into a miniscule drop of water.

"Can we go make a snow man? And a snow fort? And snow-_malach?_ And have snowball fight?" Tali begs, practically bouncing on the balls of her toes with excitement.

Ziva chuckles. "I do not think there is enough for any of those things. It is not cold enough for the snow to even really stick yet," she points out. Tali pouts.

"At least can we go outside and catch them on our tongues? I always wanted to do that. I wonder how they taste," Tali muses, cocking her head to the side.

"Probably like rain."

Tali's brow furrows. "I don't remember how rain tastes."

"Really? You and I, we used to go outside whenever it rained in Tel Aviv when we were growing up. We would tilt our heads up and let the rain fall in our mouths," Ziva reminisces as she continues to stare outside into the variative winter wonderland. "You always would jump in the puddles and we would go back inside soaked. Ima would scold us and throw us towels and make us stand outside on the porch until we were completely dry. Then she'd let us in and she would give us hot chocolate with mint in it. One year you and I had the cold for weeks after. Do you remember that?"

Tali slips her hand into Ziva's, tilting her head to the side to rest it on her sister's shoulder. "Yeah. I remember. We used all of the tissues in the house. The only box left was in Abba's study and we argued for hours over who would have to go snatch it."

"It was you, in the end," Ziva continues, "Because I said if Abba caught you, all you had to do to get out of trouble was smile."

"But he didn't catch me," Tali reminds her, a bit of pride in her voice.

"That's true. You were taught by the best."

"Ari always called me a Mini-Ninja, or Mini-Ziva."

There is a bittersweet silence and Ziva presses a kiss the crown of Tali's head, releasing their joined hands. "Let's get dressed, then we can go outside and catch snowflakes on our tongues, _ken?_"

Tali grins broadly. "Okay."

Ziva walks over to the closet and inspects her meager wardrobe. Unlike most women, she hardly breaks a sweat over what to wear. Her mind is made up very quickly, and as she pulls her signature cargo pants on she wonders why it takes some girls multiple tries to get it right. The large shirt slides effortlessly off her petite frame—but she's been working on that—and she pulls her bra on, then a long-sleeve, plain brown shirt.

"I bet they taste really good. Better than raindrops," Tali muses out loud after she has finished dressing.

"And why's that?" Ziva inquires, partially just to humor her sister.

Tali just shrugs and walks towards the doorway. "I don't know. But raindrops are all blobby and splashy and lopsided. Snowflakes, though… they are pretty and delicate and even and… pure. I just bet they're better."

The snowflake then dances out of the room, and the raindrop follows.

…

"God bless Blockbuster. They had all three movies_ and _the Charlie Brown TV special, which is probably on on cable, but I didn't want to take the chance. So… are you ready to experience Christmas classics in a way like never before?"

"I _have_ never seen them before," Ziva points out as she shuts Tony's apartment door behind them.

"Touché," Tony replies, dumping the movies on his coffee table and heading to the kitchen.

"Nice place," Ziva observes. It's truthfully not at all what she expected.

"Not really the bachelor pad you were picturing, huh?"

"It is… immaculate," she responds. No empty beer bottles on the coffee table, no dirty socks lying around, no _dust._ It is clean and classy.

"Yeah, well, I work late hours. I'm not really around to make it _un_-immaculate," he points out, his voice carrying in from the kitchen.

"Still," she responds, "it is impressive. Do you need any help in there?"

"Nah. Make yourself at home. I'm just gonna pop the popcorn into the microwave—hah, see what I did there?—and grab the drinks. Actually, if you could put the Charlie Brown tape in the VCR, that'd be great."

"The VCR, that is that black box over on the shelf, yes?"

"There're two black boxes, the cable and the VCR, you want the one on the bottom," he instructs over the sound of popping popcorn. Ziva has not had to work a television—or any sort of technology besides her cell phone, to be honest—in a while, and she is not entirely confident in her abilities to even switch the TV on. The bottom box swallows up the rectangular tape, and that is where she stops for fear of breaking anything.

A few minutes later, he appears with an enormous bowl of extra-butter cinema-style popcorn and two half-full wine glasses in his hands.

"Tony, you know I can't—"

"It's fruit punch," he assures her, sitting the glasses down on the coffee table. "And it's not completely full because I figured…" he trails off, darting back into the kitchen and reappearing a few seconds later having procured two boxes of Hi-C, "…half the fun is drinking from the juice box itself. But wine glasses are fun, too, so I gave us the best of both worlds."

She smiles at his antics. "I have only had juice _pouches._ This is the first time I have drunk juice from a little box," she replies as he hands one to her.

"Well then," he begins as he sits down next to her on the couch, raising his juice-box up in the air, "to 'firsts'. God knows there's a lot more ahead of you, Ziva." She raises her drink as well, toasting it with his and smirking at the dull _thud_ it makes, as oppose to the normal clink of crystal glasses.

Tony takes the remote off the table and turns the TV on, and soon they are settled into the couch with _A Charlie Brown Christmas_ playing, a bowl of popcorn the only thing between them.

"I used to be able to play this on the piano," he informs her when _Linus and Lucy _starts to play. She turns to him, looking fascinated.

"I did not know you played piano," she replies. "You should play it for me." She nods her head in the direction of the baby grand. He shakes his head.

"Nah, I haven't played it in forever, I don't know how much I remember," he declines politely.

"Once you start playing it, you will remember."

"Oh, will I?"

"That is how it usually works for me. It is what my teacher used to call… muscle memory, yes?" Ziva tells him. His eyebrows shoot up and he reaches over to the table to pause the show.

"Another hidden talent?" he muses.

"I have not touched a piano in years," Ziva assures him.

"Fine. I'll play what I can remember of _Linus and Lucy_ if you play me something, too," he bargains.

"'I'll show you mine if you show me yours,' yes?"

"Yep. So?" he asks expectantly. Ziva sighs.

"Oh, alright," she caves. He grins, hopping up from his place on the couch and extending an arm to her to help her up. In a typical Ziva fashion, she pointedly ignores it and stands up on her own.

She follows him to the glossy black piano and stands behind him as he sits down. He characteristically cracks his knuckles loudly before placing his fingers on the keys.

"Keep in mind," he says before he starts, "that I only learned the dumbed-down version. Vince Guaraldi's was _way_ above my paygrade."

He starts hesitant, but eventually he gets into the swing of it and his fingers are moving nimbly across the keyboard. The way he plays amazes Ziva—he is _really good._ Even if he hits an occasional wrong note, she can tell that he has a great sense of dynamics and she can't help but be impressed.

He finishes before she knows it—the easy version is much shorter than the real one—and she can tell that he is proud of himself.

"Not too shabby for having not played it in a few years," he shrugs.

"Not shabby at _all_," she assures him.

"Now, your turn!" he exclaims, leaping from the bench and patting it, beckoning for her.

"I do not know what to play," she admits as she takes a seat, "I don't know if I remember anything."

"What was the last piece you played?" he prompts. She frowns.

"I do not… _oh. _Um… Okay. I will try," she concedes, remembering hours-long practice sessions as she tried to perfect that one particular piece.

The beginning notes of Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata emerge from under her steady fingers. Hammer strikes string and the vibrations created float through the quiet apartment. She is immersed in the music, feeling it, not concentrating but not losing focus, either. It feels like being hypnotized.

When the ending chords fade away and the hypnotic music ceases, Ziva becomes aware of her surroundings again. There is nothing but silence, and when she turns back to Tony, she finds him standing there with his mouth not fully closed and his eyes hazy.

"Are you okay?" she asks, shattering the silence. He blinks a couple times and stares at her curiously.

"That was… incredible," he compliments, seemingly breathless. "I love that song."

She smiles softly. "Me too. It was my mother's favorite. We went to Switzerland when I was six, and my mom twisted my father's arm until he agreed to stop at Lake Lucerne. The man who gave the piece its name said that it reminded him of the way moonlight looked sparkling on Lake Lucerne…" she trails off, remembering flashes of distant memories of a time _before_ her family fell apart. Silence for a moment, then…

"My mom loved Beethoven," Tony tells her. "I'm convinced that she had me take lessons just so I could play his pieces. Moonlight Sonata… it was one of her favorites, too."

"That is something we have in common, then." Ziva's smile is soft. "I learned it a few years ago," she begins. "I spent hours working on it, trying to get it perfect. I learned it in a month, I wanted to have it done in time to play it for her on mother's day."

"I bet she loved it."

Ziva lowers her gaze to her intertwined fingers. "She, uh… passed away a few weeks before. I have not played it since."

The information she has just trusted him with is so dear to her heart, buried so far beneath her, that she wonders how she possibly could have let it slip out. She does not speak of these things with _anybody,_ let alone Tony.

But Tony is not "anybody."

"Wow, Ziva… I'm so sorry."

When Ziva looks up to meet his gaze, she can feel her eyes burning and a thin layer of tears coating them. She chokes them back. "Do not apologize for something that you did not do."

He is silent for a second. "If you ever need to talk…"

"That is very kind, thank you," she responds, knowing full well that she will never take him up on that offer.

"What friends are for," he reminds her, and she wonders how long it will be before that phrase becomes their slogan of sorts. "Now come on, we have three movies to watch, juice to drink, and popcorn to eat."

They migrate back to the couch, and this time the bowl does not make its way in between them.

She finds that she does not mind.

…

Halfway through the last movie, _A Christmas Story,_ Tony looks over to find Ziva's head leaning back on the couch, her eyes shut and her breathing even. He reaches out for the remote and turns the movie off, silencing poor Flick's cries of "_Stuck, stuck!"_ After stretching his legs, he grabbed the bowl, glasses, and empty boxes, returning them to his spotless kitchen. He spends a little time thoroughly washing the few dishes (knowing full well that if he doesn't do them now then he will neglect to do them later), and when his kitchen has been rectified he heads back into the living room. He knows that he has to wake Ziva up. Sleeping sitting up on a couch was bad enough for _him,_ and he can't imagine how bad it would be for a pregnant woman.

He kneels down in front of her, noticing the way her eyebrows twitch inward and her mouth twitches downward. Her sleep does not look entirely restful. Laying his hand on her shoulder, he gives her a gentle shake. The scowl deepens.

"Ziva, wake up." He shakes her a little harder this time, and gains results.

Her eyes snap open and she gasps audibly. Frantic eyes search the room for a threat, and, finding none, they settle on him. She slumps back into the couch.

"Sorry," she mumbles, heaving a sigh.

"Bad dream?" he wonders, despite knowing the answer.

"I am fine," she replies, not directly answering the question.

"You have nightmares often?" he questions, making sure to keep his gaze as gentle and non-prying as possible.

"Occasionally. Nothing I cannot handle." She is putting on a brave face, he can tell, but then again, when is she not?

"Naturally."

"I'm sorry I missed the rest of the movie," she apologizes, and he knows that she is changing the subject intentionally, "we should finish it." She nods towards the television, but he can tell that her heart isn't in it.

"Not tonight. We can watch Ralphie shoot his eye out some other time. You're exhausted," he insists.

"Where is your linen closet? I can make up a bed—"

"Oh, no you don't. You're taking my bed, no arguments. Come on, let me have this little bit of chivalry."

"I do not need preferential treatment because I am woman," she protests, shooting him a disapproving look.

"No. You get preferential treatment because you are a _pregnant_ woman, and because you are my guest. Now go, brush your teeth, change, the bathroom and bedroom are through there. I've got the couch."

Ziva seems too tired to argue, so she nods in acceptance. This time, when he extends his arm to help her up, she takes it. Her heavy feet trudge off through the doorway that leads to his bedroom, and before she shuts the door, she turns to him.

"Thank you. I had a good time."

"No problem. Waffles for breakfast?"

"I like waffles," she replies, before shutting the door. When he hears the sink start running, he picks up his tired feet and heads over to the linen closet, producing a blanket and a pillow. He places them on the couch and strips off his jeans, folding them and placing them under the table. Then he lays back on the lumpy, not-so-comfortable-as-a-bed couch and stares up at the ceiling.

As he tries to fall asleep, he can't help but wonder what kind of images plague Ziva's subconscious. Is it death of loved ones? Something else from her past? Falling? Hell, forgetting a math test? He can only hope that whatever they are, the nightmares leave her alone for the rest of the night.

Because, if nothing else, Ziva Regev deserves to be able to sleep in peace.

_A/N: I actually rather like this chapter. I had to laugh when I wrote the bit about the VCR. I originally wrote it with words like "disk" and "DVD" before I realized that it's 2001 and VCRs have not yet become the things of legend._

_Yeah, I'm a pianist, and I'm sorry if that was blatantly obvious. But I had to. I just had to._

_Such an overwhelming response for the last chapter! The reader response just gets better every chapter and I love it. Thank you all so much for reading, and huge thanks to __**TivaGirl, Ghee Buttersnaps**_ (*Shawn/Gus-style fist bump*),** NCIStiva3, Bex19, andixoxox8, NCIS Ziva DiNozzo, prince-bishop, Shortcake99, Nicole, Angelhaggis, aquasm, xSupernovax, dvd123 **(or as it would be in this story VCR123 :P),** xncisgirlx16, Chloe, Simsee, **and **middawn** for the lovely reviews! You guys are the best:)


	25. Chapter 25

When she awakens the next morning, she is panicked. The reveille, however, does not come in the form of another nightmare; rather, it is the distinctive smell of something burning. The realization that she is not at home comes a few seconds later and brings with it a bit of relief. If there _is_ danger, at least her sister and brother are not involved (as either the victims, perpetrators, or both).

Reasoning that she is probably not in any danger—Tony would have woken her if there was, wouldn't he?—Ziva quickly throws the covers off and slides out from his comfortable, albeit peculiarly small, bed. With a sense of urgency she walks towards the closed bedroom door, but catches a glimpse of herself in Tony's reflective closet doors—she is dressed in a large, white t-shirt and shorts. Hardly feeling comfortable facing him in such attire, she throws open the closet doors and hastily grabs a navy blue bathrobe before proceeding to the kitchen.

"I think I screwed up."

Ziva cannot stifle her laugh at the sight before her. It clearly is a miracle that there _wasn't_ a fire. Tony's baking skills seem to leave much to be desired. He has flour all over the counters, floor and his sweatpants. There is a trail of batter from the red mixing bowl to the waffle iron, which is open and displaying the—_burnt—_fruits of its labor. The entire room is in a bit of a smoky haze.

"It appears so," Ziva replies, grinning madly. "You appear to have been taking notes from my brother."

"Ari bakes?"

"No. That is my point," she chuckles, leaning up against a clean portion of the countertop. "He tried to make me a birthday cake once. It looked a bit like this."

"Damn, I really thought I had it," Tony sighs, running a slightly floury hand through his hair.

"What _happened?_"

"Well first it was too thick, then it was too thin, so I added more flour and it looked pretty decent so I put the first batch in. But when I tried it it tasted terrible, so I tried again, only I burnt it," he explains, gesturing towards the train wreck before him.

"Have you done this before?" she inquires, walking over to stand next to him and closer inspect the iron.

"Nope."

"Sometimes the first batch comes out badly. What did it taste like?" she wonders, hoping to run a diagnostic. He reaches over to a plate and removes a nicely cooked waffle, handing it to her.

"Try for yourself."

She takes a bite and chews only a few times before scowling and gulping it down.

"You are right. You definitely screwed up," she teases, pushing gently past him to look at the ingredients still on the counter. Flour, milk, eggs, salt, baking soda— "Tony?"

"Yep?"

"Did you put baking soda in?"

"Yeah the recipe called for it, why?"

"I am fairly certain that the recipe called for baking _powder."_ An amused smile spreads across her face.

Tony opens his mouth to protest, but his words don't quite make it into the air. He leans over to the island and studies the paper that must contain the recipe, and a frown settles on his face.

"Oh."

Ziva smirks.

He rolls his eyes. "So, cereal?"

"Sounds good to me. Would you like help cleaning up?" He could probably use it.

"Nah, I'll get it later," he replies, reaching into the cupboard and pulling out a box of Cheerios. "Merry Christmas, by the way." Her face lights up.

"I forgot! Merry Christmas! What do you usually do?" she wonders. He sets the bowls down on the counter and goes to retrieve the milk while she goes to the other side of the island and sits on one of the stools.

"I don't know, it depends. Usually… nothing, really."

"Really? You do not celebrate… with your family? Or with your team?" She is slightly hesitant in asking, since he hardly ever talks about his family.

"Well, my coworkers all have families of their own, for the most part. But my family's not exactly the type. It's just me and my dad," he responds. She can see him attempting to conceal sadness, and it's suddenly all too familiar. She stops inquiring after that—if anyone understands not wanting to discuss fathers, it is her. She hardly has a right to press for information when she avoids all of his questions on the topic.

"This is a change," she observes as he slides her the bowl of cereal from across the counter.

"What is?"

"_You_ waiting on _me._"

He chuckles. "How much are you gonna tip me?"

"Nice try."

"Oh, your brother called, by the way," he informs, walking around the island to pull up a seat next to her.

"What did he want?"

"To make sure I didn't murder you and dump your body in the Potomac."

"That sounds about right," Ziva replies. Actually, she is rather impressed that he managed to refrain from calling until now. He is improving in curtailing his overprotectiveness, she thinks as she takes a bite of Cheerios.

"You know, it's actually kind of nice when you think about it. I mean, he _could_ just not care. He loves you," Tony points out.

"I know. Believe me, I know. He is… I am fortunate. I would much rather he called me every five minutes than did not care at all," she admits. Sometimes, when she was in Be'er Sheva, she would think about Ari and wonder. He had always loved his sisters, but she wondered how he might end up. She hated to think that Eli's flippancy regarding family members would rub off on him. Luckily, that was not the case, not at all.

"Hey, Tony?"

"Hmm?" he responds, his mouth full.

"I do not want you to be alone on Christmas. You are welcome to have dinner with us. If you want, I can make loukoumades," she proposes. A great part of her is saddened by the thought of him spending the holiday alone. It is unfair. He is a good man, and good men should not be lonely, and especially not during the holidays.

He turns to her, a great big smile on his face. "Those sugar-covered, deep-fried things?"

"Yes."

"Well, I can't say no to that," he answers. "Thank you."

She knows that he is not thanking her for doughnuts.

…

When they arrive at the David's apartment, it's nearly noon. Tali is, naturally, thrilled to see him. She gives him a great big hug which, to Ziva's relief, does not seem to phase Tony in the least. She attributes it to working so closely with Abby.

Ari looks happy to see her in one piece, although he gazes upon Tony with a bit of suspicion. To his credit, he does not look upset to hear that Tony will be hanging around for the remainder of the day. The promise of delicious dinner didn't hurt.

It snowed a lot overnight, and Tali is bouncing off the walls, words like _snowman_ and _snowball fight_ and _snow malach_ tumbling out of her mouth. Ziva smiles at seeing her sister so excited; it's easy to share in her enthusiasm.

"Hey, I have an idea," Tony says, and Tali turns to him eagerly.

"Does it involve snow?"

He grins. "You bet it does."

…

They arrive at the sledding hill around two, having eaten lunch and stopped to purchase necessary equipment (sleds). To say Tali was ecstatic would be an understatement. Her excitement is more contagious than usual. Upon setting eyes on the steep slope, a wide grin spread across Ziva's face.

It looks _fun_—actual, honest, straight up fun, something which hasn't graced Ziva's life in quite a long while.

"DiNozzo, I gotta hand it to you. This was a good idea," Ari admits as he looks down the hill.

"Race you to the bottom?" Tony challenges, tossing the other the plastic sled to the man next to him.

"You are going down," Ari responds.

Tony then proceeds to count down from three, and then the two take off running. They sprint a couple of yards before diving onto their sleds, which in turn zip down the snowy slope at higher speeds than Ziva had been expecting. Eventually, they reach the bottom and slow to a stop. She can hear them arguing about who won even from the top of the hill.

"They better hurry back up here, because _I want to try!_" Tali exclaims, wide eyed.

"Race me?" Ziva proposes, grinning madly.

"I will win," Tali insists, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Do not bet on it."

When Ari and Tony return to the top of the hill, they are breathless and laughing and both shaking snow from their hair.

"Ladies second," Tony smirks, handing Ziva his sled.

It has been a while since she has experienced adrenaline, Ziva decides as she whips down the hill, the wind freezing in her face. She can hear Tali screaming with delight, and somewhere in her mind she registers the fact that she is doing the same. They reach the bottom far too soon, in her opinion.

So they go again, and again, and again. Getting high on the feelings of freedom and friendship, it's easy to pretend that they are carefree teenagers, not runaways aged far beyond their years.

Everything feels so blissfully simple.

…

They swing by the grocery store before returning to the apartment. Ziva needs ingredients for dinner—chicken parmesan and loukoumades for dessert. It's not exactly a traditional Christmas dinner, but Tony does not care. He never was really one for tradition.

They return to the apartment at five and take the bags of groceries up, but Ari and Tony do not stay long. To Ziva's confusion and annoyance—they refuse to tell her and Tali where or why they are going—they go back down to the parking lot. Tony slides into the passenger seat and Ari into the driver's.

They arrive at their destination not too long later, after a mildly awkward conversation that consisted mostly of small talk. Tony can tell something is on the other man's mind.

The shop, thankfully, is open on Christmas, most likely for last minute gift-buyers. They peruse the aisles for a few minutes, looking for exactly what they want.

"This is very… generous of you."

Tony shrugs nonchalantly. "I want her to be happy."

"She will not accept it if she thinks it charity," Ari reminds him.

"Then I'll just have to explain to her why it isn't," Tony replies. He sees the _look_ cross Ari's face again—the one where he has something to say. "Something's on your mind." Ari crosses his arms across his chest.

"Did you sleep with Ziva last night?"

And there it is.

"No." Tony does not bother with anything more than that. Ari does not need, nor want, anything more than a straightforward answer. Something tells him that Ari did not truly think Tony and Ziva did anything to cross the proverbial line(more of a confidence in Ziva's actions than in Tony's), but there was always that little shred of lingering doubt.

"But you wanted to." Tony tries to resist rolling his eyes, and succeeds for the most part.

"That's irrelevant. Ziva is my friend. Like I said, I want her to be happy."

"I may be her brother, DiNozzo, but I am not blind. Ziva is a beautiful woman. Many men have vied for her affection before this. You do want something more with her, do you not?" Ari inquires. This is beginning to feel a bit like an interrogation.

"I'm taking this one step at a time. I don't really know what I want yet. Ziva doesn't know what she wants yet. But for the moment, I enjoy her company and she enjoys mine, and it's really that simple."

Ari seems satisfied with his answers, and when he gives a pensive nod there is a finality about it that Tony takes to mean _end of discussion._ Somehow, Tony feels a bit better knowing the air is cleared between them.

They find exactly what they are looking for a few minutes later. Tony reluctantly lets Ari pay for a portion, and they put in in the trunk of Tony's car before heading back to the apartment, which smells like Italy. Tony's mouth instantly waters.

"I should move in with you guys," Tony moans as he inhales deeply.

"Considering what I have learned about your skills in the kitchen, it is a wonder that you have survived this long. Let me guess: take out and pizza?" Ziva teases as he walks into the kitchen.

"Hey, I make a mean lasagna," Tony protests.

"Are you going to tell us where you went, or will we be forced to torture it out of you?" Ziva asks.

"Don't worry, you'll find out after dinner," he assures her. "How much longer?"

"An hour." Tony groans, and Tali laughs.

"You have to be patient!"

"I suck a patient."

"Fine, then go suck at it in another room. We have cooking to do," she replies, crossing her arms over her chest in a way so similar to Ziva's that it's uncanny.

Tony grumbles and turns on his heels, his stomach grumbling theatrically.

…

Dinner is gone, the dishes are done, and while the men are dying of over-eating, Ziva and Tali are dying of curiosity. Tony and Ari's mysterious, unexplained trip was eating away at them. Neither are entirely certain that Tony and Ari coalescing does not mean trouble.

When the two of them return, they carry with them a rather large box, wrapped up in paper with a bow on the top.

Ziva is not sure what she was expecting, but it sure was not a gift.

"Ooo, a present!" Tali exclaims. "Is it for me?"

"It's for both of you," Tony corrects.

The men set it down on the table, and Tali instantly starts tearing away at the paper. Ziva lets her, knowing how much she always loved tearing the wrapping paper off of her birthday presents.

When the wrapping paper is gone, Ziva can read the words on the box. She looks up at the two most important men in her life with shining eyes.

"I know it's not full size or anything, and it's electric so it sits on a stand and doesn't have pedals, and it's definitely no baby grand, but… I thought you should have one, if you love it so much."

Tony DiNozzo has bought her a piano.

_A/N: Sorry about the absence of flashbacks. They're not over, far from it, but they will not be every chapter anymore. Some of you will not like that, a lot of you will:) I hope you liked this chapter. I'm sorry it took so long to post. Summer vacation is no friend of writers' block._

_Thanks to much to__** JG, xSupernovax, Simsee, dvd123, Liraeyn, shortcake99, NCIS Ziva DiNozzo, bex19, NCIStiva3, kw, middawn, a guest reviewer, agentscully6, kate97, prince-bishop, andixoxox8, Tivafeels,**__ and __**tivagirl**__ for the wonderful support! _


	26. Chapter 26

_Previously on All Fall Down…_

_When the wrapping paper is gone, Ziva can read the words on the box. She looks up at the two most important men in her life with shining eyes._

_"I know it's not full size or anything, and it's electric so it sits on a stand and doesn't have pedals, and it's definitely no baby grand, but… I thought you should have one, if you love it so much."_

_Tony DiNozzo has bought her a piano._

* * *

"Tony! How did you know?" Tali exclaims, wrapping her small arms around Tony's waist tightly. "I have not played piano in ages, I missed it so much! _Todah todah todah!"_

Tony smiles and rubs her head affectionately. "You're welcome. When Ziva was over yesterday she played a bit for me, and I figured the two of you must miss playing a lot. A since it's Christmas…" he shrugs modestly. "Ari also chipped in, so you don't just have me to thank."

At that, Tali pulls back from Tony and transfers her hug over to her brother.

With Tali's embrace gone, it is inevitable that Tony would next transfer his attention to Ziva. She is standing next to the box, watching the interactions from afar.

She is not sure what to say, and for a moment there is nothing but meaningful eye contact. It seems they are quite good at non-verbal communication, because there is a minute where Ziva does not think words are even necessary. Every expression of gratitude that he is no doubt waiting to hear is clearly expressed in her eyes and in the way her mouth is upturned ever so slightly.

Tali, being the astute child she is, senses that their unspoken dialogue is perhaps something best fitted for privacy. She discreetly ushers Ari out of the room.

"You did not have to do this," Ziva finally says, feeling obligated to at least say _something._

"It's Christmas. Gift-giving comes with the territory," Tony replies. She, however, is not satisfied.

"I did not get anything for you."

"Well this was a hell of a good day in my opinion, and I believe I have _you_ to thank for that. It sure beats hanging at home watching _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ for the seventh time. Jim Carrey's great, but I don't think I could watch that movie _again. _So that counts: the gift of human company. Oh, and you made those donut things, and really if that doesn't count as a present then I don't know what does."

A gentle smile appears on her face as she listens to him ramble. Without thinking, she begins to close the space between them. Her feet start moving the second he finishes talking, almost on their own accord.

Soon she is standing right in front of him, and there is only a second's hesitation before she reaches up and wraps her arms around his neck ever so gently. The way he tenses up almost immediately informs her that he _really_ was not expecting her to hug him. He relaxes almost immediately and brings his arms up around her torso, and for a moment she allows herself a human moment to relish in the safety his embrace brings.

"Thank you," she breathes, and with her mouth so close to his ear he has no trouble hearing it. With that, she pulls out of the hug and stands back, giving them a good few feet of space.

"I'm glad you like it," he replies, his left hand still resting on her shoulder. He gives it a light squeeze and trails it down her upper arm before releasing it. With this moment, both of them know they crossed quite a few implicit boundaries. They drew a line in the sand the night that Tony asked her out—the night they decided that friendship was as far as they could go. It seems, however, that the tide has come in and eroded what was previously definite. Now, after the waves have retreated, all that is left is ambiguity.

But, oh, how beautiful the waves were that night.

…

The twenty-seventh of December finds Ziva sitting in a white-walled room on a paper-covered padded table surrounded by sterilized medical equipment.

Patience is a virtue that Ziva has never truly been blessed with, especially when she is nervous. Her fingers are tapping against the table in a never-ending rhythm. She should not _be_ nervous, she knows this, but the thought of what Dr. Kendiss can tell her today has her stomach in her throat. Bad news is not uncommon when it comes to Ziva's life, but she hopes to God that it will not be the same for her baby.

It feels like hours before the door opens to reveal Dr. Kendiss. Ziva stops her tapping immediately and sits up straight.

"Hello, Ziva, how are we feeling today?" the middle-aged woman asks as she picks up her clipboard and pen.

"I am well," Ziva responds.

"Good. Have you been taking it easy these last two weeks?"

"Yes. I cut down my shifts at the diner like you suggested. I only work one four-hour shift six days a week now."

"Good. Have you been taking your vitamins?" the doctor asks, continuing her line of questioning and simultaneously making marks on the clipboard.

"Yes."

"How has your diet been? Are you eating more?"

"I… still do not have much of an appetite, but I am eating what I can. More than before," Ziva answers. She is actually quite proud of herself. Ever since her first appointment, she has been putting forth a conscious effort to consume more food.

"Alright, well then, I think we can get started on the ultrasound. If you could lift up your shirt and lie down…"

Ziva does as instructed, and soon she feels the cool gel being spread across her belly.

"You're looking bigger since I last saw you," Kendiss observes.

"That is good, yes?"

"Very."

The doctor moves the wand over her belly, and Ziva stares intently at the screen. A grainy black and white image appears, and she is mesmerized.

"_Oh…_" Ziva exhales, her eyes fixed on the screen. "Hello again."

She hardly notices the doctor taking out another wand and putting it on her stomach as well, but soon a noise fills the room and her eyes widen.

"Is that…?"

"It's your baby's heartbeat, Ziva. That's your baby," the doctor informs her, smiling gently.

Ziva does not know what to say. For a moment she just listens to the rapid _thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump_ and watches her baby's tiny movements on the screen.

"Why is it so fast? Is it supposed to be so fast?"

"That's perfectly normal. It has a healthy heart rate, don't worry," the doctor promises. "It's doing much better than it was two weeks ago. Its growth is closer to the normal growth curve. You're doing well, Ziva. The baby's still small, but the chances of carrying it to term are looking better."

Ziva exhales a sigh of relief, feeling as though a giant weight has lifted from her chest. Her baby is doing better. Her baby will be okay. They will both be okay.

"You're about a week into your second trimester now," the doctor continues after a minute. "Do you know what that means?"

Ziva frowns in confusion. "Not really."

"The baby is big enough now for me to be able to tell you the sex. Would you like to know?"

There is a beat of silence while Ziva deliberates. Does she? Does she really want to know her baby's gender? It's such big news, is she really ready to hear this?

"Yes," she decides, curiosity getting the better of her, "I want to know."

And so she waits with bated breath.

…

_The girls' celebrations of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur brought a sense of comfort. _

_Lila was a bit afraid of participating. While she was hardly a devout Muslim, she was not sure she should participate in their celebrations. The girls understood, and Lila mostly watched from afar as the girls prayed and danced. She did take part in the fasting, however, even though Ziva assured her that it was not necessary._

_To cover their heads, the girls used pillow cases. All of them refrained from taking the drugs and from eating. Ziva had managed to convince Kameel and Harim from bringing in any clients, as well. It was not difficult. The two men knew that they could not force the girls to do something against their religion, because keeping the peace was far too important when the girls were technically not being held against their will._

_Ziva went to bed that night feeling almost at peace. She clutched her necklace, remembering home. _

_She felt closer to it than she had in months._

…

The apartment is empty when she returns home, and she is glad. She needs space, time alone, to soak in everything that has happened today.

Ziva needs time to envision her future, now that she has a better picture of what it will look like.

She is feeling hungry, so she grabs pita and hummus from the kitchen and plops down on the couch, grabbing Tali's book off the end table. However, she only makes it through a page before reaching into her pocket and pulling out the sonogram picture. She places it into the book, covering up the words, and stares. She examines the curvature of the spine, the tiny nose, the little feet, as her free hand rubs her belly gently.

It is not unlikely that she could spend hours just looking at her baby, wondering if she has ever loved anything more.

These pregnancy hormones are making her a sap.

Eventually, she does move from her spot on the couch. A shower is in order, she decides, and heads to the bathroom. As she strips out of her clothes, she examines herself in the full-length mirror and wonders when exactly her baby bump became quite so obvious.

The shower is refreshing and relaxing. When she gets out, she spends a half hour just blow-drying her hair, killing time until Tali returns from school. Once her hair is sufficiently dry, she returns to the kitchen and makes her sister a small snack of apples and peanut butter (her favorite) to eat when she returns. Her mind's eye can't help but conjure up images of what it will look like to have a small child running around the apartment, standing on tiptoes to see over the counter, munching on small pieces of fruit, banging on the piano which is now set up in the living room.

These images put a smile on her face, and her hand comes up to rest on her belly once again.

"You are going to be a little ball of energy, huh? I bet you and your Doda Tali will get along so well."

Ziva has just settled back down on the couch with the book and the sonogram when the door opens.

"Hey Zivi," Tali greets nonchalantly as she hangs up her winter coat on a hook and kicks off her boots.

"How was school?" Ziva asks, shutting the book and placing it on the end table.

"Good. We had a pop quiz in English, though," Tali gripes, walking over to the couch and sitting down on Ziva's left.

"How did you do?"

"Probably not very good. English is hard. Everything is spelled funny," she responds, wrinkling her nose. "Didn't you have a doctor's appointment?" A small smile appears on Ziva's face and she looks down at her lap.

"Yes. The baby is getting healthier. The doctor thinks I can carry the pregnancy to term." Ziva informs her little sister. "Would you like to see a picture?"

Tali's face lights up. "You have a picture? Lemme see!" she exclaims, smiling broadly.

Ziva grabs the book off of the end table and pulls out the sonogram, handing it to Tali to inspect.

"Ooo, Ziva…" Tali trails off, her finger tracing the baby's small features.

"I never imagined myself with a son," Ziva muses, tilting her head to the side.

"It's a boy?" Tali asks, surprised, looking up at her sister.

"Yes. I always pictured myself with a little girl, I guess I never really considered having a boy."

"To be honest, I didn't picture a boy either," Tali admits, stroking the picture gently.

"I… whenever I pictured him, I pictured a little girl. I pictured… I pictured you, I guess."

"I guess this will just be an interesting challenge, then." Tali leans over and rests her head on Ziva's shoulder. "He's so… tiny. Tiny baby. Tiny little boy. Pretty little boy," she coos. Ziva rests her head upon Tali's and her hand on her belly.

"Yes. Yes, he is. And he is going to be so loved. So, _so_ loved…"

Tali smiles and moves her head from Ziva's shoulder, bringing it down and pressing a kiss to her abdomen before amending her sister's last statement.

"He already is."

…

Tony strolls into the diner that night and the first thing he notices about Ziva is the spring in her step.

"Someone's having a good day," he observes as he approaches the counter. She smiles.

"If you must know, I went to the doctor today," she informs him.

"Well I seem to recall the last time you went to the doctor you were not nearly this happy after. I take it there was good news," he deduces, pulling out a seat and plopping himself down.

"My baby is healthier. Things are looking up."

"That's definitely good news, then."

She reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small square, holding it out to him. "Would you like to see him?"

"Him? It's a boy?" Tony inquires, reaching out and taking the sonogram from her hand.

"Yes. It was not what I was expecting." Tony studies the black and white image, a small smile on his face.

"You're not upset about that, are you?"

"Of course not! I am just happy he is doing okay. I just want him to be healthy," Ziva responds.

"You know what you're gonna name him yet?" he wonders.

"I… no. Probably something Hebrew, but something that would fit in well in America. I… I had a few names for a girl, but I had not thought of boy names yet," she admits.

"What were the girl's names? Maybe there's some sort of male equivalent?" he suggests, handing the sonogram back to her. She slips it in her pocket and gets busy pouring him his drink.

"I… I was considering two, actually. Rivka— that… that was my mother's name," she informs him, and the significance of her revealing anything about her parents does not pass him by. She sits the glass down in front of him. "The other, was, uh… Lila."

"What's the significance of that one?" A part of him is angry at himself for asking that question. Is it too personal?

She hesitates, visibly. "I had a… a friend. Her name was Lila."

Tony can easily tell by her tone and body language that pressing into that subject is a bad idea. "Can you masculinize those? Like… Rivk…o? Or… Lilo? Are those even names?"

She smirks, and Tony knows that his attempts and silliness have successfully alleviated the previous serious tone of their conversation. "I am fairly certain that those are both still girls' names. Besides, I do not want to name my son after a woman. I will think of something."

_Your father,_ Tony wants to say, but a little something called common sense stops him. If Ziva's father as a namesake was even slightly an option, it would have been the first thing she thought of. No, Ziva's father is obviously not a man that she respects or loves.

This, of course, only makes him more curious about the man and Ziva's past. He tries so hard to not care where she came from or why she's here—does it really make any difference?—but he cannot stifle his curiosity.

And it's hard, but for Ziva's sake, he does not ask. He forces his mind to leave that train of thought and focus on something else. Since it is his M.O., he cracks a joke.

"Ya know, you could always name him Tony."

"Ha!" she scoffs. "What a thought."

"Fine. If you don't want your son to have the coolest name ever, then that's your problem."

"_Coolest name ever?"_

"Yeah! I mean, did you know that if you separate it it's two parts of the body?" he informs her. "Toe," he points to his foot. "And knee."

She chuckles. "What a fascinating piece of trivia."

"I'm full of fascinating trivia."

"I bet you are. Too bad you do not use your brain for storing useful knowledge," she teases. Tony just smirks.

What a relationship they have.

* * *

_A/N: I think a couple of apologies are in order. First— sorry about that flashback, but I just didn't have energy. Second— I'm so sorry that it's been almost a month. These last few weeks have been… difficult. It's been hard to think about writing since the news. And then I've been busy campaigning…_

_I also changed my penname. I don't know if you noticed. It's now my Tumblr URL._

_I know some of you had your heart set on a girl. Sorry to those people, but it was always going to be a boy. A girl is too cliché and has been overdone. I felt this was a refreshing change from the usual. Hopefully it's not a deal breaker for anyone._

_Such a wonderful response to the last chapter! First and foremost I'd like to thank __**never-give-up-hope2**__ for reviewing EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER at once. That was incredible. Also my profuse thanks to __**Christinou, Abby, prince-bishop, shortcake99, Angelhaggis, aquasm, middawn, NCIStiva3, NCIS Ziva Dinozzo, dvd123, Nanoushka, theroseshadow21, bex19, xncisgirlx16, **__and__** JG **__for the fantastic reviews!_


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